LAST CHANCE TO REMEMBER

by KP Liles

United States Post Office, Miami FL, 1922 Photo by William Arthur Fishbaugh,1873-1950

You could vote

and laugh

with dragonfire force.

You could mail letters, 

medicine, the Hope Diamond,

at the Post Office.

You could dine out

indoors. You could visit

splendid national parks.

You could chat

or argue with neighbors

then shake hands afterward.

You could travel

anywhere you could afford.

If you were Black,

Muslim, or loved someone

counter to expectations, 

you could

prove greater joy.

You could imagine. 

You could hear more

than one voice, one name

night and day, in print, 

onscreen, on-air 

or in dreams.

You could feel

faith’s traction.

We had global foods.

Unlimited entertainment.

Such glorious sport—

you’d start cheering

at “land of the free...”

That crowd’s roar!

You could give children

roof, ice cream, ambition

and sleep well for it.

More or less everything

was possible

if you could believe.

KP Liles has penned two poetry collections, Singing Back the Darkness (NYQ Books) and Spring Hunger (Plain View Press). He currently lives in the New Orleans metropolitan area.

ODE TO WHAT WE CAN COUNT ON

by Mark Danowsky

The U.S. Postal Service was out there minding its business until the bully-in-chief took aim at the public service, calling it a joke, demanding it increase prices and claiming that mail-in voting would be compromised. When he was done with all his orange unhinged ranting, Trump did what he’s done throughout his presidency, which is to make sure someone was in place to do his dirty work. Trump’s boy Louis DeJoy became the postmaster general in May. Besides mailing letters and buying the stamps of the Confederacy, DeJoy has absolutely no qualifications for this position, but he did have one quality that has always been impressive to Trump: DeJoy is a huge Republican donor, and more specifically, a Trump donor. Since taking over the U.S. Postal Service, DeJoy is either so inept that he’s fucking things up, or he is actively working to create mail delays and possibly a clusterfuck during election time. Either way, whether accidental or intentional, he’s doing a great job that only benefits the president. Stephen A. Crockett Jr., The Root, July 31, 2020. Photo illustration: Soohee Cho/The Intercept, Getty Images, Alamy.

The mail
Morning tea
Afternoon walk
Taco Tuesday
The mail

The mail
Fresh podcast episode
The album drop
The mail

The mail
A morning dose
The mail
An evening dose

The mail
A check-in message
Missed calls
The mail

The mail
The walks
Birdsong
Rainstorm
The mail

The mail
A brief exchange
A trip to the store
Taco Tuesday
The mail


Mark Danowsky is a Philadelphia poet, author of the poetry collection As Falls Trees (NightBallet Press), Managing Editor of the Schuylkill Valley Journal, and Editor of ONE ART poetry journal.

NOTES ON AN APRIL DAY

by David Chorlton

We returned a pigeon to the sky
where he belongs this morning.
Otherwise, it’s a quiet day

if we ignore the news
of the nuclear mouthed supreme
leader watching oriental snow
fall through his binoculars.
There’s fresh snow too

in the country we left behind
where spring comes in disguise.
Is it caused by climate change

or was the past like this
and we simply forgot?
It’s ninety degrees today
in Arizona, where the legislature
wants to take away civil unions
and give schoolteachers guns.

The mailman delivered only
the usual requests for money
while the same message keeps landing
in the electronic inbox
from a friend whose mind

we hear is becoming like snow
and melting away. What use
is information to her, from radio
or the press? Why bother
telling her the world she tried to improve
is refusing assistance? It’s better to reply

with a few words to say
how gently the afternoon has passed
and hold on to whatever peace
is ours to share.

David Chorlton has lived in Phoenix since 1978, and still sees his surroundings with an outsider's eye. This helps his writing projects, which include a new poetry collection, "The Devil's Sonata," from FutureCycle Press.