The Fourth River

Tributaries: “Pawpaws”

By on April 26, 2017

By Kelly Garriott Waite   The thing is, I’m not even sure I like pawpaws, deceitful things: I look at the oversized fruits dangling from the branches ten feet up and think pear. Yet a pawpaw cut open and tasted

Tributaries: “Landmarks”

By on April 19, 2017

By Deborah Fass   Not the lawn taken by oxalis, not the yellow flowers we recklessly call buttercup, not the Caution: Repaving sign tacked to a sawhorse, not the sawhorse, not the pavement, not the 1950 single-family ranch, not the

Tributaries: “Land and Seek”

By on April 12, 2017

 By Sarah Van Bonn     “We think we’re getting slimmer, but really we’re losing our youth.” Dee and I are lying on the sailboat: the part they call a “trampoline” but why? It’s as easy or hard to jump

Tributaries: “What a Butterfly Means”

By on April 5, 2017

By Joanna Brichetto   At book group someone asked why write about nature, and someone answered we write to make meaning. But what if meaning is already there? Let’s say I see a butterfly in the rain, and it’s a

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.

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

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

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

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

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