POETRY: MAXINE KUMIN – AT THE END OF THE AFFAIR

At The End Of The Affair

That it should end in an Albert Pick hotel
with the air conditioner gasping like a carp
and the bathroom tap plucking its one-string harp
and the sourmash bond half gone in the open bottle,

that it should end in this stubborn disarray
of stockings and car keys and suitcases,
all the unfoldings that came forth yesterday
now crammed back to overflow their spaces,

considering the hairsbreadth accident of touch
the nightcap leads to-how it protracts
the burst of colors, the sweetgrass of two tongues,
then turns the lock in Hilton or in Sheraton,
in Marriott or Holiday Inn for such
a man and woman-bearing in mind these facts,

better to break glass, sop with towels, tear
snapshots up, pour whiskey down the drain
than reach and tangle in the same old snare
saying the little lies again.

This poem appeared in the 1973 anthology Contemporary Poetry in America , edited by Miller Williams.

If you dig Maxine Kumin, check out her newly released memoir The Pawnbroker’s Daughter.

Submit your work to Cacti Fur.

POETRY: DOMINIC MADERA – SOME MEN

Some Men

If we all cried, there would be no scorched earth.

No droughts on this plain,
The lemon tree in full bloom.
Somewhere on the chalkboard,
Men became deserts.
Rough, rugged, lonesome
Dove cowboys–
Basking in adobe wall shadows.
Sand snake skin.
Taking in the comfort
Of suppression. Silence.

The plants wither away.
Famine whips land like bootstraps
Rough walls fracture like cicada skin.

But some men cry.
Some men take comfort
In floodwaters, swollen
Rivers bring new life
To this landscape
Of dry eyes and cracked feet

Let rivers engulf eyes
Let thunder beat out of bone,
Crack open coral walls

Shed tears when the sun steals
Time, and the river abandons
Wet rock. Mourn for dead
Stars, remember what’s lost.

We can’t live in walls anymore.
If we all cried then the clouds
Would forgive us.

–
Submit your work to Cacti Fur: cactifur.com/submit

NONFICTION: BEATLICK JOE SPEER – TREK 27

TREK 27 In 1969 Margaret Atwood’s “The Edible Woman” reveals the life of a young woman whose structured and consumer-driven life alters drastically. When I was a student, the majestic peaks of the Grand Tetons made me wish I could fill my dorm room with rocks. I didn’t want imported beer bottles, or old Christmas […]

POETRY: PAUL LIEBER – MOTHER IS A STOPPED CLOCK

Mother is a Stopped Clock Have you ever stumbled on one? The hands at impossible positions You try to adjust it, but you wind up tossing it out though the numbers are clear as numbers can be. Mother’s fingers travel over ivory as she forgets arthritis and picks out timeless standards. But she’s lost. She’s […]

HAIKU PHOTO ESSAY: TIM STALEY – RAILROAD CANYON

1 The river catches the moon like a fly ball. 2 After the fire Ponderosa thrive and barbed wire. 3 Two years after the fire flowers so thick dogs disappear. 4 Synesthesia is when gnats land in your eye and you sneeze. 5 American Dream: butterfly turns to spiky black caterpillar. 6 The creak is […]

POETRY: EMILY STRAUSS – THE DEATH OF DAVID CARRADINE

The Death of David Carradine (December 8, 1936 – June 3, 2009) He was found dead on a Thursday in a luxury hotel suite in Bangkok. “We found his body, naked, hanging in the closet”, they said— he hanged himself with a curtain cord tied to his neck, one wrist and penis in a form […]

POETRY: JANELLE RAINER – HIGHWAY PROPHECY

Highway Prophecy The man is sitting in a white plastic lawn chair on the side of the highway, wearing a ball cap, aviators and khaki shorts. Lounging, one leg propped up. Looking very relaxed, to tell you the truth. Holding a white sign with black letters: “Jesus says the end is near.” I watch […]

POETRY: THOMAS N MANNELLA III – “PISCES”

“Pisces” February twenty-fifth, early morning, and the pond is iced. Rainbow trout, I think, sprinting to the house, puffing breath, but nobody cares except Peter, my little brother, so I walk to the glass studio to watch Dad work his blowpipe, play Bass Pro Shop on Xbox, and wait for him to join me. Today […]

POETRY: Jason Bertucci – A Farewell to Becky

A Farewell to Becky

a country girl reclines on her back porch

the twinkle of moonshine in her eye

born and raised in her small town

she sits on the precipice of change

one last party at her little house

a bittersweet haze in the air

old memories packed in boxes

familiar scents drifting away

the young girl tired of gossip

and the same old people she knows

she’s moving on to New York City

a big grey bird flies to her new home

there’s a job waiting on the 9th floor

and a new, faster way of life

trading barns, horses and wheat fields

for hope, glass, concrete and stone

she’ll find subways and taxis

instead of old pickups and dirt roads

from one world to a melting pot

only takes one dream to rule them all

maybe she’ll get lost in the shadows

or wind up on the cover of a magazine

she has only a few contacts

but she’ll make plenty more

one last look back over her shoulder

as she winds up for that giant leap

and opens a brand new door

Submit your work to Cacti Fur: cactifur.com/submit

POETRY: Jessica Wiseman Lawrence – Birds

Birds

Water breaks for Terns and Petrels

diving to an unknown thing,

then up from water into air –

with no clumsy shaking or annoyance –

for them this is life and as easy as the atmosphere.

I saw a little grey sparrow land on a fence

when I arrived at a place I promised I’d be.

My car hummed,

and everything was humming,

and everything was noise.

We are just noise to everything.

Ahead, two crows pecked at grass, at seemingly nothing,

and feasted on worms and fleas

ignored. We toss simple things

away, we’ve thrown up

our hands to more food than could feed

countries full of children.

There is no flight enough to make us

comfortable with the animals we are.

There is nothing enough to make us the birds

we could be.