"Calamity or calumny,/ the autumn in its hue: is red"


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Issue 13: Free Form

Issue 12: The Necessary Ear

Issue 11: The Necessary Eye

Issue 10: Out on a Limb

Issue 9: The Missing Body

Issue 8: The Lily

Issue 7: Passages

Issue 6: No More Tears


Katy Lederer

Against the Gate


Before the bell tolls, she must

run.


Through garden plot and broken

gate.


Against the gate, the devil has come.

The push


of his fingers on the cast-iron

rung.


The entrance, the last to have entered

defendants,


Commence with sudden diligence to

dream.


The iron in the fire is hot, the cello in its coffin,

quit



and all around the rooftops sighs of jaundiced

women.

_______________________________________________________________

It Might Be True


It would be better not to say it

It might be true


That the people in this world, like me and you, are elevated

evening stars. In dark.


A bright idea—

I hear the dolorous bell


In sunset, which is wrapped in fir

Calamity or calumny, the autumn in its hue: is red


as paintbrush: Persephonous, blue. I will you to believe it

If we dwell


much longer under light.

_______________________________________________________________

Sonnet


Left

Directed, through legend, to a fatalistic

want. Singed by sun and shown, through

dedication, that to have it is not

to have taken possession

in lit intent—in a regimented lyric

that defines itself by order and

itself

defies through mishap—clasped

discarded, calamitous.

The black-petaled flower does

entail itself generically

through wind, as a cherub, through weather

as barb.

_______________________________________________________________
 

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