The Fourth River

poem

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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

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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

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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

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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

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Tributaries: “Nuchal Origami”

By on December 28, 2016

BY KERI WITHINGTON   If I could untangle umbilical cord, measure calcification, label isosceles, scalene, acute, copy your construction, its strict geometry I could find comfort at your steel altar meditate to the wasp buzz of power; electricity thrums from

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Tributaries: “Geography of a Steel City”

By on December 14, 2016

By Allison Brooks   Here I am the proverbial stranger: My foolish mouth, my pig-shit mind, drops verbs of being sweeps them up from this slippy floor. I was forged stupid, then, by lunch pails and Catechism. Mid-west, where thunderstorms