As if some little Artic Flower
Emily Dickinson

As if some little artic flower
Upon the polar hem,
Went wandering down the latitudes,
Until it puzzled came
To continent of summer.
To firmament of sun
To strange, bright crowns of flowers,
And birds of foreign tongue!
I say, as if this little flower
To Eden wandered in–
What then? Why, nothing, only,
Your inference therefrom!

Emily Dickson was born on December 10, 1830, in
Massachusets. Her first poetry was published posthumously
in 1890.

Four Haiku

leaves under the snow
wait for the snow to melt away
falling is not fun

a skidding leaf
after the street sweeper
some others follow

snow day silence
no creatures stirring
only a bunny hops

blacktop road
glistens with melting snow
mirrored sky

©Byung A. Fallgren

As Girl
Annie Wenstrup

At six being a girl meant Tinkerbell
nail polish and pointed, pink Barbie shoes.
Sequined fairy wands and slippers that fell
off my feet when I ran. Outside the blue
sky a backdrop for green grass, the sweet
June tree that was home base. Everything caught
my eye sparked. Rain-freshened earthworms,
armored rollie-pollies, and firefly dots.
At night the television played the news.
Its cyclopean eye returned my stare.
The got-like purple reflected a parade
of women and girls like ewes. Fair 
and lovely. I thought they were adored.
Later, I was not a girl anymore. 

Annie Wenstrup is the poet and author of  
The Museum of Unnatural Histories.
Awarded the tenth-annual New England 
Review Award. She lives in Alaska. 

Miscarriage
Christine Steward-Nunez

Gauzy film between 
evergreens is a web

of loss. Get closer. Reach
to touch the shimmering 

gossamer and your finger
pushes through. Remember

filling that space with desire?
someone else might grieve

the spider who abandoned 
this home; others grow anxious

waiting for a deer for a week
to wreck it. But you--

you grieve the net of thought 
span inside your own womb:

intricate and glossy and strong.