AFTER THE MASSACRE

by Howie Good

Photograph by Phil Armitage

1
January has been mostly absent. No need to look online for what it means. I already know what it means. It means there’s a girl at the door collecting for cancer. Alcohol intensifies the effect. Theology, too. Whoever doesn’t love incongruity doesn’t love me. The clock raises its penciled-in eyebrows. I don’t talk in my sleep; I scream.

2
I wake up to snow drifting down, dry and brittle, like the ashes of murdered six-year-olds. Hey! No problem! the weather girl assures everyone. I have become someone I never wanted to be, the way songs have become their own jingles. Hear it? The cold, dark howls of women giving birth to monsters in attics.

Howie Good, a journalism professor at SUNY New Paltz, is the author of five poetry collections, most recently Cryptic Endearments from Knives Forks & Spoons Press. He has a number of chapbooks forthcoming, including Elephant Gun from Dog on a Chain Press. His poetry has been nominated multiple times for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net anthology. goodh51(at)gmail.com.

THE STORM

by Tracey Gratch

Image source: boston.com

The sea throws its weight on an unwary shore
The sand, without wisdom, changes in form
And I, as the calm in the eye of the storm,

Have survived every wound your poor body had borne
The scars, as I read them, though faded and worn,
A subtle reminder; the center, still torn.

The sea hurls white ice at my feet as I stand
At the threshold of hope, where my life had began.
Unlikely that I would endure this dire hand

To emerge from the current as strengthened and whole,
Escaping the grasp of the strong undertow;
I pretend now to learn things, that always, I've known.

The storm will disperse and the water return
To the blue, where I live, at the edge of the earth.
Awaiting a sign, I await now a birth.

I look to the sky, the clouds taking form,
A silent forewarning; prepare for the storm.


Tracey Gratch lives in Quincy, MA with her husband and their four children. Her poems have been published in various and sundry on-line and print publications. She is at home, preparing for the storm.