The Fourth River

poem

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Tributaries: “Arkansas Anoles”

By on July 19, 2017

By Stacy Pendergrast     Before Daddy left us for New York, he told me if I could catch one of those lizards its tail would snap off. Those critters ran up and down our house all day, their true

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Tributaries: “Mobius”

By on July 12, 2017

By Nat Froiland   Searing thighs stomp pedals towards radiating pavement, each pump another pressing decision. Not the reflex begun in Milwaukee’s morning rush, but a conscious twilight effort among anonymous county highways. The river races the wrong way, inviting

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Tributaries: “Morning Glory”

By on June 28, 2017

By Fay L. Loomis   first blush of warmth unfolds velvety purple face midday withered glory carpe mane seize the morning   ** Fay L. Loomis, a nemophilist (haunter of the woods, one who loves the forest, its beauty, and

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Tributaries: “Rehabilitation: A Gospel”

By on June 21, 2017

  By Ashely Adams   It took three days to pull your wings    from the metal grille. What can a man do with an owl a shroud of cardboard and terry cloth? There’s no one here to roll back your

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Tributaries: “Peony”

By on June 7, 2017

By Sally Nacker   for B.W.   You bring home a peony bush to plant with your dog’s ashes. Too late for medicine, or hope, but not for beauty. Each June, an effusion of vivid blossoms will open, blessing air.

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Tributaries: “Crossing Borders”

By on May 17, 2017

By Aileen Bassis   Walking on roads and rubble, gravel and grass, pavement and black-top. We know our past. We don’t know what waits. Grass and pavement, black-top hillsides and grasslands, desert and dirt, we don’t know what waits —

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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.

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Poem: “I survived the summer,” by Jess Feldman

By on March 24, 2017

From Issue 13 Nominated for Pushcart Prize, 2016   Can I share this happiness with you? Meat on a spit, a trashcan full of yellow rice, this Chiweenie takes a shit by its stroller. All I want is everything on

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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

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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