Flying Island

Dear Gladys by Amy Genova I’m sorry. Sorry mother named you Gladys. Sorry you were so beautiful. A Great White Pyrenees standing six feet on hind legs when largess of paws draped over my shoulders. Every day after school, you watched for me from my second story bedroom window. The stars of your eyes soaring in their field of snow. Black stratus of widow’s peak spanning a forehead, broad as a fleet. I am sorry for your pink tongue. That you had papers, but not litters of snowballs wagging round your feet. Mother fixed that. I am sorry stepfather adopted you. That we lived in a yard-starved townhouse. I loved to bury my hands in your galaxy of fur. Sorry, your big heart trembled when stepfather came home. Mother named you Gladys. After the divorce, they turned you over to a farm. I’m glad. But I’m sorry too. Amy Genova has been published in a number of journals: The Bad Shoe, 3Elements, R.E.A.L., Spr

The Scuffle by Andrew Hubbard Who would believe A coyote would slink Onto our front porch On a mild November night? Our husky flew through the door In a mixture of outrage and fury. They were matched in size. My dog had indignation going for him (And that’s not a small thing), But speed and ferocity Were all on the side of the coyote. The death bite was not far away When I got there with a handgun And shot the interloper twice through the chest. He laid down and died Spraying blood across the porch, His wicked teeth chomping, His eyes blazing violence Until they dulled and closed. Our boy only had light cuts On his lips and muzzle And one on his shoulder. Easy to dress, but he shivered And whimpered until my wife Found a codeine pill from when They pulled my wisdom teeth. Even then he cried in his sleep All night long. And in the morning He climbed into my lap And buried his face in my armpi

Home by Chandy John You fool yourself into thinking That the place is yours You possess the land and time The little restaurant on the corner Where the ladies smile at you The eight minute drive to the airport The bookstore owned by the local author The time, the space, the clear blue skies The sweet fall air The blush of purple on the bluffs at sunset But when you betray it by moving on All of it moves on as well As if you were never there   From Chandy John: I am a a pediatrician, researcher and author whose prose, poems and fiction have been published in Sojourners, Phantasmagoria, JAMA, The Pharos, Annals of Internal Medicine, Journal of General Internal Medicine and The Michigan Alumnus. I live and work in Indiana, Kenya and Uganda.