Poetry

by Rose Postma In the seven days it took Utnapishtim's hired craftsmen to build his reed-stitched boat, Noah must have wandered over late at night to check his competition out: examining mortise and tenon, measuring the span of the joists,…

JANUARY/FEBRUARY 2014: POETRY by Rose Postma The leaves, which are not leaves, are silverfish, which are not fish at all but wingless insects: translucent as uterine vellum, antennae always craving flight, exodus. Some sloughed by wind as finger nail clippings…