The Fourth River

poem

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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

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Tributaries: “Learning to Drive”

By on December 7, 2016

BY DENTON LOVING Sunday afternoons after church, after miles of my pleading, my dad pulled off blacktop, onto the gravel lane leading home. My Dad and I, at the mouth of the hollow, played Chinese fire drill, Mother relegated already

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Tributaries: “a dim morning to wake”

By on November 23, 2016

By Austin Anderson     snow along the top of fences breaking sun on cinder blocks at dawn there is no ponderosa no tamarack stone molded cement walls & patio three stem wild rose dead & hanging on bamboo pole

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Tributaries: “Grey”

By on November 16, 2016

By Juleigh Howard-Hobson   Clouds, thick with black middles and grey edges That spread out to almost white where the sun Tries to break through…but can’t, of course. No wedges Of light may push their way through. It’s not done

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Tributaries: “News”

By on October 19, 2016

By Jelle Cauwenberghs   A group of children sat huddled like a raft of survivors around a small island tidal with shards of green glass and pottery, their feet behind a stockade of twigs. The sea was left to their