Invitation to Bathe | Steve St. George

What began with the perfection
of a liquid moon
And the mystical circular ripples
Caused by the tossing of a coin
Imprinted with the image of a dancing satyr
Has ended in a devious distortion
of the pond

But I have dipped my toes
In the warm sweet waters of madness
And have chosen rather to suffer
The indignity of my uncleanliness
For the preservation of my sanity
And the quiescence of a liquid moon


Taken from the 1988 issue of The Wire Harp.

Triolet | Kathleen Stevens

In order to get grades of A
I spend my time in study.
I never stop to rest or play
In order to get grades of A
Etched on my tombstone it will say
In letters grim and muddy:
In order to get grades of A
I spent my time in study.


Taken from the 1984 issue of The Wire Harp.

American Falls Reservoir | Dolores Lee

My knees scabbed thick
like red-brown worms,
I kneel beside the body
on the rough planks of the dock.
The carp's puckered lips
open and close as if to suck
water from air,
air from water.
Inky pupils spread
into gray clouds.
Dipping my left hand
into the reservoir
I feel the dingy lukewarm water
swirl between my fingers:
And think of Mama's kitchen sink
full of soaking dishes.
I nudge the fish
over the deck with my shoe.
Its body lands silently and sinks
deep into the reservoir.
It floats back up to me--
on its side,
eyes open wide.


Taken from the 2000 issue of The Wire Harp.

His Song | Rachelle Sorger

Broken pieces
of a cold winter
lie jagged
beneathe me.

I ache,
like rust
on a summer gown.

Sometimes he walks.

With me he falls.

He says I broke him
the day
I told him
he couldn't sing.

It's funny how I don't remember anything
except the beauty
in his voice.


Taken from the 1999 issue of The Wire Harp.

Campfire | Crystal Goings

The small light of the fire
Grows brighter
And little by little
Steals a world away from darkness.
Rebellious shadows leap near the light
And try to reclaim
What was theirs.


Taken from the 1986 issue of The Wire Harp.

Accomplice | Tom Versteeg

You're barely down off the red ball
and somebody says here
help me shake open
this valise full of bones.
The handle against you fingers
is so smooth
and so cool, but what you'll stare at
when your eyes close even years hence
is the way each femur glowed
like the nightstick of a cop
from the land of the dead.


Taken from the 2008 issue of The Wire Harp.

Aftermath | Lisa Oman

"There's nothing left."
The words pierce my heart at first,
But then bounce off.
There had to be something!
We drive past flattened houses and rubble.
Even the trees were smashed,
Molded to the ground.
I turn to look at our house.
Grandpa's staircase stands,
as if it hadn't been informed
Of any Hurricane.
It climbed steadily up,
to midair.
He always bragged how damn sturdy
Them ol' stairs were.


Taken from the 1996 issue of The Wire Harp.