Poetry

—6660.222 Ghosts that haunt all the secondhand curiosities in antique stores and thrift shops: musty ghosts in the vintage dresses, moth-ghosts in the tailcoats, ghosts that haunt the cracked teacups,
the worn-soled boots, the rusted skeleton keys

JESSIE LYNN MCMAINS,
RUST BELT JESSIE’S TAXONOMY OF GHOSTS

Two Poems—Halcyon

Sometimes you are a monster / with crocodile eyes, vulpine fangs, and a forked tongue. / You will steal, deceive, mangle, and curse.

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Every New Beginning—Bethan Rees

I have something to say. / Sometimes I see baby spiders make webs in front of my eyes. / It keeps them open, and I see them embalm bigger flies in their / stretched cotton wool blankets.

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Two Poems—Susan Darlington

Moonbird glides while the town sleeps, / her silver wings blanketing dewy gardens / and parks where the heavy heads of flowers / rest on pillowcases made out of petal.

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Orienteering—Kris Hiles

The voice I miss the most belongs to my grandfather, / and the last time I heard it he was dead. I was abandoned / in the wilderness of the station wagon…

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Three Poems—Alena Sullivan

Witchcraft found me in the womb / where it forced open my mouth / and made me sing my name to my mother in her dreams. / I woke to the world with the moon in my mouth, / mystic words like raw and ragged pearls / clacking against my teeth.

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Witches stuff moss into my cheeks, flush to the bone. In the slanted light you can/ imagine their death, but they are/ dying again when you run over a railway bridge with a Chinese lantern, dying again as a barn owl flies over a roundabout, silent arch over glowing tarmac.

SOPHIE DICKINSON, BROOK