Bread and Stars ~ Oktay Rifat translated from the Turkish by Sidney Wade and Efe Murad Bread is in my lap, Stars are far, far away. I am eating bread looking at the stars. I am so engrossed, don’t even ask— Sometimes I get mixed up and instead of bread I eat stars.
Every day,
ever-changing:
Bread ~ Steve Klepetar My grandfather tore his bread, sloshed it around brown gravy, bent over his plate, but my grandmother buttered hers with light, demure dabs, and If I could find their graves, I’d pour out red libations, feel their bodies buried deep in mine.
Portrait ~ Sean Lyon Flour floats to rest on the pizza shop owner’s black orthopedic boots as he catches spinning dough with all the gravitas of receiving his dead mother’s fine wedding china falling from the sky in busted parachutes, plate after plate after plate.
While She’s Tending Bar ~ James A. Clark Bono comes through the speakers singing about mysterious ways as she mixes her many potions with careless liquid grace, and I think she’s perfect— until I catch her from the corner of my eye, sweet-talking some suit, putting on a phony Southern Belle, bird-dogging the tip jar, […]
