A Literary Magazine Sponsored by The University of Maine at Farmington
I began purchasing decrepit paintings from thrift stores. Possibly feeling sorry for artist long forgotten underappreciated or long dead recipient. Carefully removing frames clean layers of grease cigarette smoke life’s … Continue Reading Never thought regarding why
Roll this stone off my chest, I say, the one that weighs ten tons. It contains memories of a thousand deaths, forebears mummified or packed in dry ice. Make peace … Continue Reading Roll The Stone
fog on windows we once opened rush of summer air how sweet to imagine your fingers Intertwined w/ mine But now you cook macaroni while I haunt our bed Erin … Continue Reading When Did My Fingerprints Disappear?
Item: womb; elastic, working thermometer, no windows. Item: child; cute as an heirloom, nude music, confirmation bias. Items: 3 bottles of growing up; 1 empty, 2 more or less half … Continue Reading Everyone’s Inventory
I heard you died. It came across In Facebook feed. O, what a loss For me, for sure. I haven’t seen You much of late, but you have been A … Continue Reading I Heard You Died
Trigger Warning: mention of parental death It was always the same routine, more or less. ‘Your father’s coming through next week,’ my mother would say while she making our breakfast. … Continue Reading My Father Coming Through
On Winter Street the old ice-damaged maple With the fairy door at its base, A warm picturesque entrance, maybe three inches tall, Flanked by two tiny windows and a pebble … Continue Reading Salem January V||
Paul Ilechko is a British American poet and occasional songwriter who lives with his partner in Lambertville, NJ. His work has appeared in many journals, including The Bennington Review, The … Continue Reading In The Woods
It was the second year of putting up (with) my new artificial tree. A decision years in the making. I took the plunge. We were no longer having fun shopping … Continue Reading Befriending My New Christmas Tree
Yesterday, my mother made a snowman. She slipped on her red mittens and her knit hat, pulled on her boots, and walked outside into the winter light. She rolled a … Continue Reading My Mother on a Winter Day
After “Answered Prayers” by David Sylvian “There are only two things in life, one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.” Oscar Wilde Prayers fall … Continue Reading Answered Prayers
The city has not opened the warming center Leaving the blankets to be crumpled onto the sidewalk Where ground meets wall. Across the street A four level parking structure cradles … Continue Reading Faces of December
We were one that night- bumper to bumper, metal against metal dented, crumpled. my side tangled with yours. I heard you shout over blaring sirens: Are you okay? Just shaken. … Continue Reading Crash
Trigger Warning: mention of suicide The Noon sky seemed possessed of supernatural clarity with its perfect San Franciscan blue. It was an invigoration to Archie on the first day of … Continue Reading Voyager
San Antonio, Texas Still we stand. Not so you. Not on a stone pedestal. Not visible from Martin Street. Not overlooking land you never reached. In a basement you now … Continue Reading Still We Stand
When I brought my dog home to Boston, she was only eight weeks old, so small that someone mistook her for a bunny and asked why I had her on … Continue Reading Evening Walks in Boston