The Fourth River

Tributaries

wild-herbs-1534531_640

Tributaries: “My Horticulture”

By on March 29, 2017

By Bruce Robinson   ***   Recent work by Bruce Robinson appears in Yo-NewYork!, Pittsburgh Poetry Houses, enclave, and Mobius.

beautiful-1851473_640

Tributaries: “Stable”

By on March 22, 2017

By Karen McDermott   Standing on moldy straw among palominos cream and white; the rain detains me here. Dripping thatch like the tapping of a schoolmaster’s fingers correcting my impatience returning my attention to the lesson of the day: the

colorado-lastchance

Tributaries: “Last Chance”

By on March 15, 2017

By Sue Repko I turned off Route 30 in Duncan, Nebraska to see the Platte River, but it was practically all dried up. It was the end of August, and it had depressed me. I’d expected water, life. So I

octopus-250101_640

Tributaries: “Play, with Foreign Object”

By on March 7, 2017

by Jen Karetnick   The octopus found a coconut, hollow and halved like a locket, dropped into its world. A chair waiting for its occupant, the shell rocked on the ocean floor, inviting as tea. The octopus lowered its mantle

389883_2483089883923_1903333581_n

Tributaries: “Mindfulness”

By on March 1, 2017

By Joan Moritz   Frost pays attention to everything. It is curious about each bump and crevice of a roof tile, fascinated by the folds of a winter flower, every vein and serration, the edge of a broken petal no

rain-122691_640

Tributaries: “The Smell of Rain”

By on February 22, 2017

By Diane Payne   The two babies, twin sisters, lie next to each other wearing matching pink satin robes and stocking caps. They were alive hours, maybe minutes, maybe not at all. The parents, my neighbors, dressed their daughters for

sunflowers-1173418_640

Tributaries: “River Road”

By on February 8, 2017

By Akua Lezli Hope   Long way is the highway short way follows river goes past farm field fringed with timothy Jerusalem artichoke, dames rockets stone steps to the landing shaded by old willow flat sweep below a twist of

forest-1031022_640

Tributaries: “After Courtrooms”

By on February 1, 2017

By Lauren Claus   Midnight over mountains, our horse runs in directions I never chose; I hated to face the sun so I never let her reach the forest. You can’t see her black skin at night, but note the

dark-1839316_640

Tributaries: “The Dream”

By on January 25, 2017

By J. Matas   The dream saw you before you woke. The creek. The clear creek leaving the lake. Where it was possible to see a temperature. Where your dream had run in desperation. Your sleep was maudlin. You casted

girl-442007_640

Tributaries: “Gulf, Waves”

By on January 18, 2017

By Jack Bedell   Big moon, breeze—my daughter hurries to finish her sentence in the sand before waves climb up the shore like dogs sniffing panéed meat. She wants to spell out the names of all the people she loves,