Her Nails
Of all the nails.
Her fingernails
Are the loveliest,
Yet you regard it at the least.
Oval, pink, and neat;
In the heart; and great.
But they morph into something
You fear but should be bracing;
With no fear, raging sea, like peril,
When your force goes over the hill.
©Byung A. Fallgren
The Weekly Avocet
As if some little Artic flower
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
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
The Weekly Avocet, and more
My four Haiku are published in this issue.
Thank you, Charles, Vivi, and Valerie, for taking the pieces.
The Weekly Avocet
As Girl
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.
Tanka
Tanka
today or any day
why the sea reticent in green
as the corals grow pale
the sea horses hide in the weeds
dying fishes on the shore moan
©Byung A. Fallgren
The Weekly Avocet
Misscarage
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.
Byung A. Fallgren 