Jeffrey Morgan
Another Man They Think I Am at Heart

Jeffrey Morgan - Another Man They Think I Am at Heart

Poetry
Jeffrey Morgan is the author of Crying Shame. His poems have appeared in Bellevue Literary Review, Pleiades, Rattle, Third Coast,… Read more »
Elizabeth Langemak
Green Hole

Elizabeth Langemak - Green Hole

Poetry
Elizabeth Langemak lives in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Read more »
Mark Lee Webb
It is Raining and the Planks on Lewes Pier Bleed

Mark Lee Webb - It is Raining and the Planks on Lewes Pier Bleed

Poetry
Mark Lee Webb is a native of Kentucky, but as a teenager lived in California. He knows where a skeg… Read more »
Moriah Cohen
On Learning the Year Used to be 410 Days Long

Moriah Cohen - On Learning the Year Used to be 410 Days Long

Poetry
Moriah Cohen’s poetry has been published or is forthcoming in Hayden’s Ferry Review, Hoot: A Mini Literary Magazine on a… Read more »
Sally Rosen Kindred
Proposing to Dickens

Sally Rosen Kindred - Proposing to Dickens

Poetry
Sally Rosen Kindred is the author of two poetry books from Mayapple Press, No Eden (2011) and Book of Asters… Read more »
Amy Wright
Scientists Film Inside A Flying Insect

Amy Wright - Scientists Film Inside A Flying Insect

Poetry
Amy Wright is the Nonfiction Editor of Zone 3 Press and Zone 3 journal and the author of four poetry… Read more »
John A. Nieves
The Moment of the Fall

John A. Nieves - The Moment of the Fall

Poetry
John A. Nieves has poems forthcoming or recently published in journals such as: Southern Review, Poetry Northwest, and Fugue. He… Read more »

It is Raining and the Planks on Lewes Pier Bleed

Mark Lee Webb

mackerel, striper, rotten skate. I have nothing better
to do when it rains, so I take holidays and crab,           
 
scrounge chicken necks for bait from the Co-Op,
stop at Derrickson’s for a cold cola, walk past
 
Saint Peter’s Episcopal Cemetery where irises bloom
on Miss Henrietta Stotesbury. Tomorrow, if it stops
 
raining, I will rise before dawn, slip on overalls,
and climb two-story ladders to ice gingerbread
 
in Salmon and Sea Green. My strokes are not savageries
inflicted on complicitly-stretched canvas, my palette not
 
Van Gogh’s Mediterranean Saintes-Maries brushed
in mistral winds. I work with my son at common labor
 
and together we walk scaffolding, lacquer Victorians
on McFee in Anemone and Bay Breeze. But if it rains
 
again I will slip away, stay on holiday pulling my pots,
sorting black fingers from rocks, blues from greens –
 
the females laden with eggs I will throw
back, the males destined for a scalding. Read more »