There is a sad soulfulness here to behold.It goes round and round in Spanish soundsthat ricochet off the walls of Casco Viejoand moseys on down narrow cobblestone streetswith its own special assonance and consonanceechoing in every barrio, mourning a past of some hidden might-have-been memory of a nation with wings once its…

I am a princess alone             among the rhododendrons, plucking the sticky flowers     pushing as many as I can behind my small ears     weaving them into my tangled hair. I raise a single blossom up to the sun     see how it blazes deep pink all the way through,                  sunbeams glinting off the syrup at its centre     wonder how it tastes     want to put my tongue to it.  One…

Consider the fact that the sky sinks something in us sky watchers every night  in Agbowo,  stand near the door and draw slow breaths from the unspeakable silence.   hear the rustle and barking of watchdogs, and the sirens in the  wind. Then I try to remember how to remember and forget  even why I try.  Some nights in…

When there were bombs                                                    and my grandma earned the Yad Vashem The spirit of the Blitz was fleeing:thousands of duffel coats, tagged,like luggage: handle with care: Gloves on string lost up sleeves,this way up: please come back soon.The train pulled away. My grandma was no believer but stillshe hid that awkward young…

Do you remember that time you got accidentally attracted,that goddamn time when desire felt so criminal,that it guillotined your head into a bucket of shame. If parts of the body change texture to keep up with time,if words of the tongue shift shape to appease audiences,it must be only natural we’re all…

The direction of flight and the wing’s flutter confirm the origin of firestill raging in your ear. The kick and bite of a .340 Magnum— a brutal entrance.  The world—a freeze and a cringe, a fox in full leap, suspended in time, the physics of resistance, acceleration and fall, fused, and you  pinned to the…

IMy husband and I are an alignment of starswoven with sticking spellsby Merlin’s sweet necromancy.Yet who is this new champion?He wears my favours in tournaments; his jousting is just divine.This could bring down the throne of Britain;yet am I wrong to fancya large sprig of garlicin place of my trusty bacon? III…

The shades of lost girls inhabit yousometimes, a flicker of celluloidrecognition, reflection of rageor calculated malice in widened dark pupils. A dream—the falling goes on, ceaseless, and timeloses meaning. You will yourself to be fluid, to find the water table in your veins, nourish a shaggy-barked tree, comfort a shaggy-headed man, cradling his hurt in your…

In this old Inverness housewith beveled windows that prism time,I am again at my grandmother’s for the summer.As always, she is not here.But her apron, damp from the wash of morning dishes, hangs near the stove, and her freshly-cut flowers swirl in a bowl of etched glass on the table. Still with dew, their delicate…

The mermaid, a grip tight in each hand,kept the comb to herself, butthrew the looking glass – unaware of the sea-queen’s spells – and was consumed by the tidesof the crescent trench,and the sea bunny slugwith a waterproof watchcrawled after her – and the coral sang her arrival. ____________________________________________________________ Amanda N. Butler is…