Issue 10.2 – tinywords

Introduction to Issue 10.2

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

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