Poetry

Mexicali Angels   By Jim Provencher   A chorus of angels soars through the dusty streets of a Mexicali morning. It could be anywhere along the Line—cartel-torn, half-deserted, furtive, uneasy. Still, children are singing— It’s Christmastime after all, and I follow the sound into a white-washed adobe chapel where small…

November 22, 1963 By Mike McCormick Silent prayers poured from my heart as I trudged through lifeless leaves, walking directly home from St. James School. After dinner, Dad suggested we drive to the River. He downshifted the jeep into the blackness of a vacant lot, killed the engine, lit a…

Two Kids and Their Dad Attending High School Football  By Mike McCormick Even as we stepped out the front door into the welcoming late morning sun to climb into the jeep for the drive to the high school game, Dad, my brother, and I anticipated the hours when we would…

Cummiskey Alley: New and Selected Lowell Poems by Tom Sexton, a Literary Son of the City A Review by Chath PierSath I am not a native son of Lowell like Tom Sexton had been, but Lowell and I crossed paths serendipitously in 1996. I was looking for a job after…

A review by Richard Howe of Cummiskey Alley: New and Selected Lowell Poems by Tom Sexton At the end of the bottom shelf of my big bookcase, after all the histories, memoirs, and biographies that are my usual literary diet, sit two books about poetry: Can Poetry Matter? by Dana…

Dog Walk at Harold Parker By Doug Sparks We walk in the woods when I should be at work. Walk — that’s a word easily defined — Unlike work — of the hours and the days. Shadowed by Diogenes (I’ll spare your looking him up — an Ancient Greek, He…