top of page

This too shall...

Pacify that cliche, before I ask what "This" means to you and we discover, out loud, our mismatching wavelengths, resign to hushup the whole affair.


Rather, focus on my hands, how I’ll tremble with every stop in waltz, and how your eyes stutter after an evening at the shore, searching for the lucky green ray. Maybe too much matches to quit courtship, we’ll reckon. So, take my sore hand and I'll lead you, blind and prideful, back to the bench where we fell, this moment between willows. It was within “this" we tore bread, our fragile sacrament, blessing the nearby birdsongs – Swan, heron, and turkey – with longevity. Like them, let me keep you fed and giggling.


by Zachary Issenberg

Recent Posts

See All

Two poems by Mckendy Fils-Aimé

sipèstisyon If people say your child is beautiful, your child will become ugly. ok, i confess. once, i said fuck you to danny perkins on the last day of kindergarten after a miserable year of being pu

"Dead Things" by Beth Boylan

I feel compelled to pick up the baby bird that has died just outside my doorstep this morning. Place her in my hand and rub her toothpick ribs with my thumb. Gently kiss the milky-blue bulbs of her ey

Two poems by Daniel Edward Moore

Hey, Future is that you / in the moment / a Buddhist might love / enough to hyperventilate / or the day’s dizzy spin /of 24 hours / kicking joy / to the curbs / of chaos / blessed by Hallmark’s / squa

Comments


bottom of page