April Is a Dog's Dream BY MARILYN SINGER april is a dog's dream the soft grass is growing the sweet breeze is blowing the air all full of singing feels just right so no excuses now we're going to the park to chase and charge and chew and I will make you see what spring is all about
How Soon BY GORDON HENRY JR. The story goes from in a rainfall to sister walking a field browned autumn. And when she arrives winter has come, so the old man rises from his chair, picks up matches, pipes and tools, and walks out to begin again. The sculptures grow by the day, birds in ice, recognizable eagles, a bear who began as a man in a moment of dance. He does this in ice, all winter carving at dawn, carving at dusk. And sister after walking a field browned autumn, arrives, watches from the east window, waits, goes out to him [...]
Spring and All: III [The farmer in deep thought] BY WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS The farmer in deep thought is pacing through the rain among his blank fields, with hands in pockets, in his head the harvest already planted. A cold wind ruffles the water among the browned weeds. On all sides the world rolls coldly away : black orchards darkened by the March clouds — leaving room for thought. Down past the brushwood bristling by the rainsluiced wagonroad looms the artist figure of the farmer — composing — antagonist.
Book of the Month: A Grace Paley Reader: Stories, Essays, and Poetry Critical Evaluation "There’s a case to be made that Grace Paley was first and foremost an antinuclear, antiwar, antiracist feminist activist who managed, in her spare time, to become one of the truly original voices of American fiction in the later twentieth century. Just glance at the 'chronology' section of 'A Grace Paley Reader' (Farrar, Straus & Giroux), a welcome new collection of her short stories, nonfiction, and poems, edited by Kevin Bowen and Paley’s daughter, Nora. 1961: Leads her Greenwich Village PTA in protests against atomic testing, founds [...]
Not Tonight but Tomorrow (1978) BY MIGUEL ALGARÍN Not tonight but tomorrow when the light turns the peach tree green and the Earth sprouts its young leaves looking to repeat the magical mystery tour of photosynthetic conversion of light and moisture into life— Not tonight but tomorrow when my body will have shed its fear of turning old and soft will I turn my speeding mind into the tunnels of your psyche to melt the calcium that constipates your synapses into a lubricating powder— Not tonight but tomorrow when the Universe moves on beyond the field of action that is the Earth [...]
[O sweet spontaneous] BY E. E. CUMMINGS O sweet spontaneous earth how often have the doting fingers of prurient philosophers pinched and poked thee ,has the naughty thumb of science prodded thy beauty how often have religions taken thee upon their scraggy knees squeezing and buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive gods (but true to the incomparable couch of death thy rhythmic lover thou answerest them only with spring)
For Calling the Spirit Back from Wandering the Earth in Its Human Feet by Joy Harjo Put down that bag of potato chips, that white bread, that bottle of pop. Turn off that cellphone, computer, and remote control. Open the door, then close it behind you. Take a breath offered by friendly winds. They travel the earth gathering essences of plants to clean. Give it back with gratitude. If you sing it will give your spirit lift to fly to the stars’ ears and back. Acknowledge this earth who has cared for you since you were a dream planting itself precisely [...]
How Soon BY GORDON HENRY JR. The story goes from in a rainfall to sister walking a field browned autumn. And when she arrives winter has come, so the old man rises from his chair, picks up matches, pipes and tools, and walks out to begin again. The sculptures grow by the day, birds in ice, recognizable eagles, a bear who began as a man in a moment of dance. He does this in ice, all winter carving at dawn, carving at dusk. And sister after walking a field browned autumn, arrives, watches from the east window, waits, goes out to him [...]
How Soon BY GORDON HENRY JR. The story goes from in a rainfall to sister walking a field browned autumn. And when she arrives winter has come, so the old man rises from his chair, picks up matches, pipes and tools, and walks out to begin again. The sculptures grow by the day, birds in ice, recognizable eagles, a bear who began as a man in a moment of dance. He does this in ice, all winter carving at dawn, carving at dusk. And sister after walking a field browned autumn, arrives, watches from the east window, waits, goes out to him [...]
Three Deer in Oquossoc BY SONJA JOHANSON East will take me back. I drive west. I wend between snowbanks, until the road delivers me to a sleeping boat launch. They stand on the frozen ramp; watch me with coats that are better than mine. Ice houses and snowmobiles edge the distance. I have to turn around, I say to them, I went the wrong way. They stamp and chuff. No, they tell me, this is the way.
