Nov/Dec 2017 • Vol. XXXIX No. 6 Poetry |

So Be It

It If the neighbor's roof is a shamble of broken tiles, so be it. If those tiles sit there for weeks. If no one does a thing about them. If the sky is gray day after day and then snow falls and the tiles turn into fragments of a broken alphabet traced in snow, clinging. Darkness, then dawn. If beauty, as hoped for; if death as promised. There is no reason not to say it: the woman with her head bent, reading, is beautiful. The train rocks beneath her, but she mostly sits in stillness. A slight trembling of the page betrays the truth of things. Meanwhile, a window above her bent head. A river and a bridge, a sky darkening just beyond the window. The bridge and the sky, the slight blue of a river: a world beautiful beyondour understanding. No reason not to say it: the woman will look up from her book, from the calm page, from the story not her own. In due course will suffer before she dies. The small blue relief of the river is a darkening song witho

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I Call It Joy

By Jim Moore

It If the neighbor's roof is a shamble of broken tiles, so be it. If those tiles sit there for weeks. If no one does a thing about them. If […]

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