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Some days, putting metal in the microwave

seems like the best idea.  In the morning,


it’s easy to forget your dreams.

In the night, too. Not smaller


not faster, never younger nor better.

Burn of Merlot, burn of Chardonnay,


burn of limes. Alkaline. Acidic.

Desperate chalk.  The vertical blinds


separated after dusting to reveal

a peek at the Hudson. Through


red brick buildings. Mood music

in the background. The sound of


breaking glass. The color of salt.

These things have nothing to do with grief.


Christina M. Rau, a New Yorker from Long Island shares  her winning poem from the July 2014 Goodreads Monthly Newsletter Contest. Contest winners from other publications are not given any special weight, but we love a good poem, and Christina's is excellent!



arms folded, head bowed

he sits serene in prayer

the devil's own horse


Kay Gardner sends us her  poetic observation from Tennessee

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