Poetry Week

Snoqualmie Pass by Leonard Orr
published by Crab Creek Review

There was that moment when the tires seemed
no longer in contact with anything, when the slide
at that slow speed, like those Sergio Leone Westerns,
that slow pulling out of guns from holsters, the slow
close up of the sweat falling down the craggy face,
the bright splash of blood, snail’s pace charge,
the dead villain floating backward off the horse
disappearing in the dust, then all returns to normal speed.

Searching for Things to Worship by Patrick Carrington
published by FRiGG

As a boy, everything was a delicious
snarl of spring. Busy being born,
every imaginable form of magnificence
raveled in one juicy knot. Even the ice
buds of winter maples, bared
like teeth to make breakfast
out of dawn, held green embryos.

The Real Names for Snow by L.H. Landon
published by Green Hills Literary Lantern

“Flurry,” “dusting,” “powder” are the lies
winter tells about itself.

MY LOVELY ASSISTANT by Patrick Phillips
published by Story South

So I kept one eye on the door, knowing
from experience how it would end,
how all things turned finally to anger
in that house, where he leaned back, shark-eyed,
and took a swig from the red gas can,
the spitting image of our father in a rage.

Taphonomy by Ann Walters
winner of The Adroitly Placed Word Award

Don’t close your eyes, there’s something you need to know –
this is what happens after death.
Flesh grows cold, erodes. Bones dissociate.
Left on the surface, the body is a meal for scavengers
in grab-and-go portions. Don’t take it personally.