A Chisinau bus will teach you the city. The Moldovan capital’s network of these vehicles, and its trolleybuses and marshrutkas – the decrepit minivans, unchanged since Soviet days – could take you anywhere, for nearly nothing. Mostly you paid in physical stress. Riders crammed into spaces meant for people half their size; young mothers loaded…
Category: 21st century
TWO POEMS – Jim Lloyd
Peregrine has put them up;
one, against one thousand. They
need eyes in the back of their head.
His eyes, forwards only, burning
on the brown-gold and white
ONE POEM – Clare Starling
And here I am, unsure of my value
Crushing myself through the doors
Ice and dirt crumbling from me
Leaving meltwater on the mat
ONE POEM – Elizabeth Gibson
like you are the aurora borealis, a thirsty balloon,
wanting and worthy of more air, ready to gorge
on forest fruits, and salt and garlic, and cinnamon,
like you are every season and its harvest
ONE POEM – Eugene Ryan
Our joke ran
that I would hand him the ladybird kite,
him in his little black windbreaker,
and I’d plead with him to hold on,
and he’d smile like all the world wasn’t enough,
ONE POEM – Gaynor Kane
My weight is
three black labradors lazing
a mummy moon bear
or a black and white ostrich
ONE POEM – D. Parker
stick your worm-like head
to the surface of muddy waters
will yourself into existence
TWO POEMS – John Kefala Kerr
I grab the deck rail,
expecting a disturbance
—a pitching and yawing—
but the ferry glides smoothly
over the sea’s fleecy crimp,
like a brush through kid fibre.
ONE POEM – Andrej Bilovsky
They don’t make
houses pink and white
like coconut ice-cream.
They’re always plain, dull colors.
It’s all so easy
when it should be exhilarating.
ONE POEM – Ben Nardolilli
The body wants to do the dropout boogie,
a way to just slowly spiral out
of reality and not include my self with its accessories
TWO POEMS – Adam Stokell
I see the cat before the cat sees me.
White with black splotches, a longhair.
Leaving the law behind it,
stealing easily as light fails
ONE POEM – Andrew Button
Everybody called her ‘a character’,
a regular in the library
in her shabby Barbour jacket
and crumpled hat perched
on hair dishevelled as a bird’s nest.