You Must Allow You are Made of Glass
By Sarah Sousa
You must allow you are made of glass
when witnessing the blue
tufts of marsh grass catch, orange
blaze hop-scotching from island
to island; the way light first
punctuates you here and here—flags
pinned on a map—
then fills you as it would a flask.
The dead trees’ spires jut up
to jagged heights, crowned
with leaden crows like cankers
on the bones. Scaffold upon scaffold
gains the sky but the sky becomes
heel. You must know
you are glass, when, turning away
from the light
inks you out completely.
What is bearable for the paper
weight, layered with lace-
edged violets and trapped
bubbles of the milky
way— is precarious
for the thin walled model heart,
ethyl clear anatomical heart;
passed from hand to hand.
Taken up. Set down. Filling
with the day’s bruised
and incidental light, you
must allow you were made
of glass. But in the fashion of
an ornament blown hollow.
By Laura Sobbott Ross
Some say this many acorns
mean a harsh winter, patience,
fruition of an arduous labor.
Beneath the womb
shaped nutshell, whole trees
distilled into winter’s dark
As we come and go,
I think of sisters praying
a novena, paper bag plain
beads of acorn
sliding from their fingers,
a circle growing around us.
Harbinger of fertility,
protection from storms
I sweep them from our walkway,
level the rain channeled brim
with a rosary’s worth of winter,
and I think of you,
the wild earth chanting softly.
I Love a Wall
By B. E. Stock
Brooklyn, New York
I love a wall, a certain kind of wall,
Where ivy clings or moss accumulates,
That hides the children wrestling for a ball
Or the retired professor’s wife who prates.
Walls are so critical, wise planners build
A wall of water, art or flower pots
To calm a city plaza worker-filled,
Or hide the obscenity of empty lots.
They long for walls who labor in a “pen”
- That nosey, loud, computer cluttered room
Where bulls prevail, or lions, but not men,
Though even there one sees a cactus bloom.
It’s easy to reflect behind a wall,
To change a thought or find a hidden world,
While those outside, by mystery unfurled,
Can hear their own forgotten voices call.