CONSIDERING WAR

by Amy Shimshon-Santo

Dead bodies are placed into a mass grave on the outskirts of Mariupol, Ukraine, on March 9. (Evgeniy Maloletka/AP)

after Cesar Vallejo (“considerando el frío, imparcialmente”)

considering that bombs 

leave craters in the earth

making it difficult

to mobilize hospitals,

carry pregnant mothers

across fields of rubble

comprehending the cold breath of sunday

broken bridges, 

families gathered beneath them 

without exact destinations

beyond a border

understanding that mammals with bombs

are cold hearted

explosive-death-machines, 

considering that men

—and I will call them that

because of their bombs —

explode sites

leaving the enduring silence

of family members

understanding that a cadaver

cannot speak

& I am just a storyteller

still living 

with the possibility of voice

I will make my breath a sign

painted in horror 

across the sky

that begs the bombing 

to stop

Amy Shimshon-Santo is a poet and educator who believes that culture is a powerful tool for personal and social transformation. Her interdisciplinary work connects the arts, education, and urbanism. She is the author of Even the Milky Way Is Undocumented (Unsolicited Press, Pushcart Prize & Rainbow Reads Award nominee). 

THE COST OF CAUTION

by Peter Witt

 

Malaysia's Karex Bhd, the world's top condom producer, plans to raise prices by 20% to 30% and possibly further if supply chain disruptions drag on due to the Iran War, its chief executive said on ‌Tuesday. —Reuters, April 21, 2026 

 

 

Safe sex just got more expensive,
the price of latex climbing like a fever.
There’s an oversupply of children on the horizon,
a tidal wave of toddlers waiting to break.

It starts with the fuel, the heavy scent of diesel
rising in cost, slowing the world to a crawl.
Then the cold creeps in. In northern towns,
people turn the heat down, then cuddle 

for warmth under quilts heavy as lead,
and you know what happens next.

In the tropics, the AC hums a frantic tune,
while lovers move in the artificial chill
like dancers in a refrigerated dream.
With the cost of flight soaring high as a hawk,
the world settles for staycations, 
quiet afternoons where the bedroom door
becomes the only destination left.

Without protection, the "frolic" turns to fate.
Be prepared: nine to twelve months from now,
the world may explode with new life,
a sudden reversal of the long decline.,

And while Iran guards its humming centrifuges,
and the nuclear material sits heavy and silent,
Trump stands at the podium, grinning at the chaos,
explaining to the cameras that the crying in the cradles
was all just part of the plan.

 

 

The Trump administration, dominated by religious anti-abortion conservatives and reeling in money from a new wave of pronatalist tech reactionaries, has long been considering ways to persuade, pressure and cajole women into having more babies. —The Guardian, April 14, 2026

Peter A. Witt by chance lives in Texas and is a recovering university professor who lost his adjectives in the doldrums of academic writing. Poetry has helped him recover his ability to see and describe the inner and outer world he inhabits. His work has been twice nominated for the Best of the Net award and has appeared in a variety of online and print publications. He also writes family history.  His book about his aunt was published by the Texas A&M University Press (Edith's War: Writings of a Red Cross Worker and Lifelong Champion of Social Justice). He is also an avid birder and wildlife photographer.

GROUND SUPPORT

by Allison Berry

After Joan Mitchell’s "Little Trip" 1969

In my bed, she explains how her arms
have hardened without her rifle. Her fingers and thumbs
homesick for a place no one ever intended
she call home. Home is pelts strung to drip
from guttering, her sisters
backsplashed by wood paneling,
their voices reaching the back porch as a melody.
No detail of sand or mission will ever make Iraq home
for me. Today, the president asked congress
for authorization, for ground forces.
I’m already homesick for her breasts.
I explain how my chest will empty, how the red pulse
will turn and drip. Congress goes on considering.
I take all her longing as a command.


Editor's Note: The proposed legislation Mr. Obama sent to Capitol Hill would impose a three-year limit on American action that has been conducted largely from the air and, while allowing Special Operations commandos and other limited missions, would rule out sustained, large-scale ground combat. It would also finally repeal the expansive 2002 congressional measure that authorized President George W. Bush’s war in Iraq. --New York Times, February 11, 2015


Allison Berry is working on her MFA at Queens University of Charlotte and is a Lecturer for the Women's Studies department at Pittsburg State University and the English department at Missouri Southern State University. Her poetry has appeared in or is forthcoming in such journals as The Minnesota Review, Sinister Wisdom, and Green Hills Literary Lantern. She is also a contributor to the anthologies To The Stars, Through Difficulties and Begin Again: 150 Kansas Poems. She lives in Joplin, Missouri, with her two children.

TRADE WAR FALLOUT

by Devon Balwit

The Trump administration is considering tariffs as high as 100 percent on Scotch and Irish whiskey, Belgian waffles and wines from across Europe, as part of its retaliation against the European Union for illegal airline subsidies. —The New York Times, December 13, 2019

Just as I learn to love Laphroaig, the tariffs
come, T***p ever the buzz-kill.
Bled for an extra 100%, I’ll shift
from the peat-smoke of Islay to a local distillery.
For two hundred years, the Scots have bunged
casks. I hope they can hold out. Maybe
bootleggers will sneak crates ashore in dinghies.
I’ll learn the codewords and hiss, Hey
Pal, down by the docks, then hurry home
to shots. The hit-list includes many
favorites: Gouda, Olive Oil, Cashmere,
Wine—all now harvested for dusty
warehouses. O Airbus, what have you done?
You’ve greyed the grey world for everyone.


Devon Balwit's most recent collection is titled A Brief Way to Identify a Body (Ursus Americanus Press). Her individual poems can be found in here as well as in Jet Fuel, The Worcester Review, The Cincinnati Review, Tampa Review, Apt (long-form issue), Tule Review, Grist, and Rattle among others.

THE ALIGNMENT

by David Chorlton

The view of the five classical planets -- Mercury to Saturn -- improves over the next week or two as Mercury climbs higher and grows brighter. Image by Roen Kelly. — Astronomy, Jan. 25, 2016. 

The view from the window early
is of a street before awakening
where a single porch light glows
beneath five planets aligned
in the pre-dawn universe.
                       The tabloids
have yet to strip naked
and campaigns for public office
are on hold while Jupiter
assumes its ancient role
as god of thunder,
                       withholding
its power in deference
to the moment’s calm. Stock markets
are yet to make a first transaction,
waiting for a signal from Mercury,
god of finance
                       and of tricks,
glowing seductively
next to Venus, who’s worried
about Saturn always trying
to invoke some revelry
                       but who, in his role
promoting freedom, can’t help
feeling glum about the way
speech has been confused
with wealth. The sky
                       is a deceptive calm
today, considering the constant proximity
of Mars, the god of war
who never rests.


David Chorlton is a transplanted European, who has lived in Phoenix since 1978. His poems have appeared in many publications on- and off-line, and reflect his affection for the natural world, as well as occasional bewilderment at aspects of human behavior. His most recent book A Field Guide to Fire was his contribution to the Fires of Change exhibition shown in Flagstaff and Tucson in Arizona.