Note from the Editors

 

   SEEING RED 

    ENDU(RED) ADMI(RED)
    DESI(RED) WONDE(RED)
    RUMO(RED) ADO(RED)
    ENAMO(RED) INSPI(RED)
    DISCOVE(RED) SAC(RED)
    HUNGE(RED) WONDE(RED)
    EXPLO(RED) FEATU(RED)
    AUTHO(RED) SEA(RED)
    DA(RED) UNCENSO(RED)
    SOA(RED) ADVENTU(RED)

 

 

    


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Suitcase, Becoming Bird

    January 9 and 10, 2015

 

crossing Crooked Creek
look for the kingfisher
see instead a bigger bird?
feet in the water, circle
back around to the bridge
maybe just an old suitcase
leaning into the ice-trimmed
creek, refuse, stuff 
the humans didn’t want—
but wait!  the suitcase
moves, becomes what it always
was—Heron, Great, Blue
sees me, arches wings, 
wheels into the air
and disappears
along the curve of the creek

that night my mother visits
me in Mexico— we run into 
each other by chance—
me, traveling with an old friend
from college, Nell, and
my mother, well, I don’t know 
why she was there, 
but she is her old self 
restored to a younger,
thinner body, except 
her face
makes no expression

we sit together in the hotel lobby
its display cases full of sample 
craft projects meant for mother-
daughter activity.  We say
little.  Realizing I have abandoned
Nell on the high concrete porch 
of a stranger, I jump to go

my mother touches the hem
of my sleeve: Promise you’ll
come back?  And a laugh
escapes me: Of course
I will.


Jill Kelly Koren
 teaches English at Ivy Tech Community College. Her poems have appeared in Literary Mama and The Louisville Review, among other places. Her most recent collection, The Work of the Body, was published by Dos Madres Press in 2016. Jill lives and works in Madison, Indiana, a river town, with her husband, their two children, and an exchange student from Madrid.


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