The Pale Horse

April 2020 | poetry

The night the trees in the orchard

dropped their peaches,

the ground shook,

and a nurse told us it was almost time.

His breath was little then less.

With drooping eyes, he tried

to speak that day and night

when our whole world was stacked

against a disappearing sky.

We prayed his color,

somewhere between chlorine

and chlorophyll,

would pinken when dawn arrived,

turning blackness to rust and pink

and then, clear blue.

Taking turns warming his hand,

my daughter and I switched seats

and shared memories

we hoped he could understand.

But nothing could stop a breeze

from blowing from the four corners

of the room or a blare

from seven trumpets

calling to the sea to wash it crystal.

Teresa Sutton

Teresa Sutton’s fourth chapbook, “Ruby Slippers for Gretel,” (under different titles) was a top 50 finalist in the Wingless Dreamer 2019 Chapbook Competition and a semi-finalist in both the 2018 Concrete Wolf Chapbook Award and the 2018 Quill’s Edge Press Chapbook Competition. Her third chapbook, “Breaking Newton’s Laws,” won 1st place in the Encircle Publication 2017 Chapbook Competition; One of the poems in the collection, “Dementia,” was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. The final poem of the book, “Confiteor 2,” was honored with second prize in the 2018 Luminaire Award for Best Poetry. Sutton taught for 10 years at Marist College and 29 years as a high school English teacher. She has an MFA in poetry from Solstice at Pine Manor College, an MA in Literature from Western Connecticut State University, an MS in Education from SUNY New Paltz, and a BA from SUNY Albany.

Skin of the Days

April 2020 | poetry

I pulled the sheet over the hole again,

laid stones along the edge to stop

the wind from slapping it against the sky.

I didn’t want to see

how far down I’d have to leave him.

He’d showed me what I needed to know,

how to brine the meat in salt and garlic,

how to mix dill in the vinegar,

keep the cucumbers and carrots

crisp through months of snow

when I’d be alone

and no one would come up the mountain.

He taught me to talk to the mirror,

look in my own eyes, say I’m afraid,

the only way to pierce the cloud,

make it bleed your worry.

He’d always say there’s no one

who’ll get in the hole with you;

make your own mind.

For months I tried to shove the ache

back in the hole, wanted the days

to pile like shells into years,

cover it, settle the patched mound

‘til it was a flattened hill of my dead.

Every morning the steel on stone voice

cuts the air when I cook the oats,

raisins and molasses,

stare out the window at the snow,

roll his words in my mind.

Even now I whisper the rules:

throw salt over your shoulder to blind the devil,

be ready to say you’re sorry,

watch a man’s eyes when he talks

if I want to know

whether you can believe him.

Mark Anthony Burke

Mark Burke’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in the North American Review, Beloit Poetry Journal, Sugar House Review, Nimrod International Journal and others. His work has recently been nominated for a Pushcart prize. See: markanthonyburkesongsandpoems.com

Too Late?

April 2020 | poetry

Albert     did you really say

science without religion is lame

Did you repose under constellations

hour-less nights     no calculations     no formulas

knowing infinity lives in cosmic sparkle     hoping

to stir eons of wonderment

When in deep contemplation     did a welling-up

ferry you into timeless paradise     priests call heaven

I ask you if this sacramental suspension

could be a black hole     final grave     consuming us

Tonight      blackness swallows me

Imbibed by inky abyss     turned inside out

reshaped     silent

I wonder of my finality    earth’s extinction

the fate of pondering

When you reveled under constellations

hour-less nights     did you implore God

that this luxury      not be something

time forced you leave behind

Did you write a verse     incant an intercession

invite tempus fugit back     over and over?

Conversation with Albert Einstein

Marianne Lyon

Marianne has been a music teacher for 43 years. After teaching in Hong Kong, she returned to the Napa Valley and has been published in various literary magazines and reviews including Ravens Perch, TWJM Magazine, Earth Daughters and Indiana Voice Journal. She was nominated for the Pushcart prize in 2017. She is a member of the California Writers Club and an Adjunct Professor at Touro University in California.