The summer 2010 issue of tinywords begins today.
Both the quantity and quality of work submitted for this issue were astonishing. Over a 15-day period, we received
Category: Issue 10.2
sunrise—
all at once
birds leap from the water
free from school
the chalk dances
across the sidewalk
summer at last
I blow away a grey hair
from my keyboard
thick stump
an ant crosses the growth rings
into my childhood
new moon
last year’s kite
slumped in the corner
museum hall
children study
their echoes
fading tattoos
he hauls her wheelchair
from the beach
tanka
the voice
of a wrong number
for a moment
wishing I was the daughter
she’s trying to reach
old pond—
a crab sneaking into
the sunken sneaker
leaf shadows
spatter my skin
this heat
gnarled banksias
entwined like old lovers
along the track…
how many years now
have we been together?
wood’s edge—
stepping inside
the sound of river
mockingbird an octave shy of the moon
war ruins…
suddenly the cicadas
stop
Cigarette smoke
curls against
the white moon.
father-daughter talk
my fishing lure
caught in the moon
something less
than the speed of light
camellia blossoms
the junkyard crane
grabs another car—
wind-tossed poppies
laundry in the garden
the colorful dresses
full of butterflies
rising from prayer
i find myself
in tourist photographs
a row of white houses
across the bay
the glint of binoculars
bush track and mountains
all I can see
is one horse fly
between roots
a woodchuck
gathering sun
a beach day like any other
until she unwinds
the ties of her bikini
The sky darkens
The ocean replies
Falling rain,
the priest kneels before an empty altar.
a solitary bird calls to the space between lightning and thunder
my colleague
flirting with the workmen
. . . endless summer rain
rain in the puddle—
I have nothing to give
to the street musicians
towpath—
a blue heron shifts
the twilight
gone
with the storm
the wind chimes
my neighbors quarrel
deep into the night
seaside rest home
the gentle swell
of his belly
over my thoughts the hush of pines
Her last summer
each day brings
a new flower
workday’s end
a construction worker pees
into the summer sun
cobwebs
fill the curve
of the snow shovel
dropping my dog off
at the kennel her whine
amid all the barks
after the hurricane
only the moon
last day of vacation—
the blackberries
won’t let me go
cloudy day
I wave at the neighbors
I don’t know
a spider
on the floor tile—
checkmate
daughter and
mother the
same hard face
bus stop
an empty bench
and a bag lunch
from pampas grass
a dragonfly emerges
thunderclaps
gusty wind
chasing one another
three plastic cups
beach party
the last drop of sunlight
caught in a glass
rain
curtain
of absences
the little spider
hunches sideways—
night shift
whispering grass ~
the scythe’s sound against
the stone
World Series
another layer of paint
flakes off the fence
summer’s end
lilies pointing
toward earth
collecting stones
from the river
where I was baptized
moonlight
washes over me
summer’s end—
rearranging gravel
in the Zen garden
last bloom—
closing
the shears
Issue 10.2: Editor’s Note
tinywords issue 10.2 is now complete. There will be a brief pause before issue 10.3 begins.
There is a printed version of this issue available! It’s a handsomely-formatted