Fall 2017 / Featured / Poetry 2017 / Uncategorized / Volume 48

Goodnight, Irene–Joyce Janca-Aji

We hear ourselves speak as though it is we who are driving this mad bus pell-mell down the mountain.   Outside, under the juniper tree, the wasps are swarming, the bullfrogs relentless and brackish in their chant.   Pain or pleasure, medicine or poison, each blade of grass can be a gate, each footfall a moment of wakefulness. … Continue reading