We had a quarrel, melee, detonation of hurt—
fisticuffs of invisible disfiguration in the countryside of Spain.
I slept that evening on a reclining lawn chair under the stadium of the sky.
You stayed in the bed, roof overhead. The next morning you left
in an economy red rental car for the village where you joined
a Catholic procession, walked amongst men carrying a wooden saint
above their heads down narrow cobblestoned streets and alleyways.
All posts tagged: Joanne Dominique Dwyer
October 2023 Poetry Feature
New poems by our contributors BRAD CRENSHAW, JOANNE DOMINIQUE DWYER, ELIZABETH HODGES and OKSANA MAKSYMCHUK
Table of Contents:
- Oksana Maksymchuk, “Sentences”
- Joanne Dominique Dwyer, “Prophesies in a Park”
- Elizabeth Hodges, “Athena”
- Brad Crenshaw, “Spilling Seed (Second Vision)”
Sentences
By Oksana Maksymchuk
A ten-year-old, escaped
from a war waged across
a membranous border
Pushcart Prize Editors Nominate 8 Pieces from The Common


No Alphabet
If not for the lust of women, there would be no alphabet.
Save for the breaking of traffic rules, there would be
no Cubism; no fractured light scrutinized from subways
or kaleidoscopes in the tool belts of surveyors.
