Painted Cat
(an ekphrastic poem) The painted cat on my balcony hangs in the sun, bleaches out its wooden survival kit, cut short- then rots chips paint, cracks widen in joints, no infant sparrow wings nestled in the hole beneath its neck- then falls down. No longer a swinger in latter days, August wind.
Read MoreConnection
Wild Cat Cleo will not be ignored. She presses her case for freedom– her nature, not my nurture. There, the door is open. Go before I change my mind! Go out if you must do whatever cats do sniff and scratch, stalk and prowl slip silently into the dark black on black, camouflaged. Do what you must do but come back to me don’t quarrel with the neighbor’s menacing tom, eat bad meat, or run in front of moving vans. I must care for you, Cat Cleo, as your once mistress, my daughter, did bury my face in your fur, her hair. Leave the senses of the...
Read MoreAt My Feet
A day after my birthday she left it outside: by the bedroom door, soggy with summer rain, curled like a comma, with a yowl. A present—better late than never. It lay there, soaking up more rain, iridescent with a hint of red. That night as I slept she brought me another and left it on the bed. Small as an ink spot, a morning surprise. Two days later she announced her gift as I lay On the couch watching Woody Allen wishing I had his brilliance. This time the little thing was still alive, so when she dropped it in front of me it ran behind the speakers and then...
Read MoreBrodsky
Catherine’s husband, Douglas Hewitt, had been famous in scientific circles for being a boy genius. He was still a genius at forty-five, though now no one made a fuss about it. In fact, his current work was a secret from the general scientific pool. For the past six years, he’d been working exclusively for Rhys Milestone, the British billionaire. The personal goal of Douglas’s employer was to be the first layman in space using his own ship. He claimed that he wanted to take tourists to space, even to setting up “space hotels,” but from an occasional comment from Douglas, Catherine...
Read MoreWild Violet Featured Works: Week of Sep 30 (Love, Part 2)
In honor of my wedding anniversary, which was this past weekend, this week marks the second of a two-part look at love. This time, our contributors tackle some of love’s thornier challenges: Mary Julia Klimenko’s poem, “Blue Hydrangea,” explores the mixed feelings of fear and desire that can accompany love and sex. In Julia Ryan’s short story, “Dunkirk Dilemma,” a World War 2 nurse honors a dying soldier’s wish and finds herself on the front lines of a war against homosexuality. Kaitlin Deasy’s poem, “Tsunami,” shows...
Read MoreMule Heart
We need a word for love that is now grief, Which refuses to collect dust in the glare and Lively clatter of the heart; Love of what was, that still is Because stillness is precisely the puzzle For our grinding, mule hearts — Heart like a catchment basin filling To overflow then recede in accordance with the seasons — Yet the heart is a walking vessel in search of rain — Over and over we bolt from the discomfort of our Agitated, unrestrained thirst that manages to Eclipse us every time. Here it is, the skinned and meaty crux: Love guides us...
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