2012-2013 Online Edition - POETRY

Bonnie Parker Finds Her Photo in the Paper

By Kayla Bernadas

She spread the image edge-to-edge

across the kitchen table:

a front page feature in big block letters

with her name framed up and placed just-so.

Bonnie leaned forward on to her elbows

and saw the letters PUBLIC ENEMY

like a movie title, in curling script.


All that time long ago

at the diner, in her past life

when she had a legal husband

and an apron full of change,

she’d often leave their cramped apartment

a few hours early to catch a matinee.


She was a glorious bird in a rusting cage then.


Sometimes, just to let the time pass

she’d collect the scenes outside her window;

each part of the country seemed to carry

its own romantic light.

They were always in that car, thieves on vacation,

and it burned like shots of liquor

with a hand like Clyde’s atop her knee.


The mid-morning light caught her like a storefront display

when she stood in the door frame to tell the whole gang.

She was always the first one awake.

She saw her shadow on the floorboards:

the silhouette of someone who turned her back on society,

just a troublesome woman getting back at the world.

She liked the sound of it.


It was much more exciting

than a day of fake smiling

and serving pie on chipped plates

to unhappy fat men, whose nickels she’d save

to hide in the theatre

and dream of a life

much like her life now.


She just wished those reporters

would stop their damn lying

and telling these strangers

that she smoked cigars.

Porch Series Outtakes

By Marie Claire Bryant

Unidentified season meddles me

Sprouted nights leave wet peach pits

            sleeping at the windowsill. Summer waved again gal,

Summer has nailed some things into the wall, Summer nor east of westward

            and the peach will follow suit- rotten into autumn


we unroll

our straight denim sleeves

and enter the mirror.

            Porch series outtakes still like rain

                                                                       ran like rain



            Come visit my gallery potluck; see the sediment so far accumulated at the bottom of my night. Are you gold man? If you

                                                               make women tremble

                                                                               and leave them                                                                                                                 pumpkins to carry

The Knocking Eye

By Marie Claire Bryant

Love spit the porch; your score steams into the morning

         dogs and birds teeter on the telephone line, singin’

please daddy please

be mine     eight o’ clock, I spit inside your

mailbox, spit carefully your front lawn,

          and we vied with strange, smiling orbs

         around our heads


         moonlight children unaware-

Wood paneling, and I have been told it is rude to stare.


Contrary, your eye knocks

the same hollow demeanor

which the ceiling regards the floor.


Audible collision of a man!

         August, mahogany

                  rocking chair knocks a kiss

                           the devil has known


crooked facial expression of love. Three courses

balanced by age. When it began,

if it will ever end