Sublingua

By Cameron Finch The dream goes like this: I am standing in a kitchen, standing at the sink. The world is dark outside, morning or night. Over the sink, I am holding a knife, a startling chef knife for chopping very fine onions or apples. Always the knife is arranged horizontally, as if I’m restraining...

Light Spots: Poetry.

Sylvia Bernhardt Light Spots Blind courage  Has moved me once more. Scabbed yet gently painted, My toes brush the dirt aside To check for glass or unknown Hurts. Others, Blind in their own respects, Dropped spilt or threw On the path I trod. Pilgrims passing through will Look upon me, with jealous Tired, eyes. Beneath...