A Triangulation of Images Over the
Course of One Weekend
by Johanna DeBiase
1. I noticed the approaching ambulances
did not have their sirens on. Three firemen stood around the wreckage
of an SUV, upside down in the middle lane of the highway. Even in the
rubbernecking traffic, there was an eerie silence as we passed just a
few feet from the accident. I wondered how it happened. Only the
front portion of the roof was crushed. The window was rolled down.
And then I saw it, a sight that still haunts me, a sleeve of a plaid
shirt, much like the one my husband beside me was wearing, a torso
folded over itself.
2. It was watching us as if it heard
our old truck coming from way down the dirt road. It just stood there
staring, its eyes following our path along the bend. “Stop the car.
What is that?” “A dog? A fox? A coyote?” “I've never seen a
coyote that wasn't running away.” A minute passed in that long
pause before it turned and ran back into the forest. “Yep, that's a
coyote.”
3. The blue moon rose over the
mountains. My daughter and I laid in the river, the water rushing
over us, cooling off from the hot baths, giggling. “Mama, why does
the moon follow me?” “To watch over you.” “Why does it watch
me?” “To keep you safe.”
the sound wing makes on air
by Robin Powlesland
coconut husk 6ft away
from compost barrier
crow sucks air above head
an ant crawls across dirt
in front of concrete where
I sit in front of sitting
there is a distance between words
and what crawls where
there is a distance
between what crawls in mind
and what crawls green
egg shells on dirt
and dried husks of what was
metal piles of drying string
empty and unstrung
the spot where the old Chilean
hammock hung
has only dried thread
and half broken clothes pins
the crow makes known
#22 Jose Pacheco
and distance streaks
between the branches
it's home wherever
we/I go
this place outside of
my skin itches
with the insects
and my breath hardens
with the air
I can go wherever
I want to
