Editors' Notes

Maria Damon and Michelle Greenblatt
Jim Leftwich and Michelle Greenblatt
Sheila E. Murphy and Michelle Greenblatt

A Visual Conversation on Michelle Greenblatt's ASHES AND SEEDS with Stephen Harrison, Monika Mori | MOO, Jonathan Penton and Michelle Greenblatt

Letters for Michelle: with work by Jukka-Pekka Kervinen, Jeffrey Side, Larry Goodell, mark hartenbach, Charles J. Butler, Alexandria Bryan and Brian Kovich

Visual Poetry by Reed Altemus
Poetry by Glen Armstrong
Poetry by Lana Bella
A Eulogic Poem by John M. Bennett
Elegic Poetry by John M. Bennett
Poetry by Wendy Taylor Carlisle
A Eulogy by Vincent A. Cellucci
Poetry by Vincent A. Cellucci
Poetry by Joel Chace
A Spoken Word Poem and Visual Art by K.R. Copeland
A Eulogy by Alan Fyfe
Poetry by Win Harms
Poetry by Carolyn Hembree
Poetry by Cindy Hochman
A Eulogy by Steffen Horstmann
A Eulogic Poem by Dylan Krieger
An Elegic Poem by Dylan Krieger
Visual Art by Donna Kuhn
Poetry by Louise Landes Levi
Poetry by Jim Lineberger
Poetry by Dennis Mahagin
Poetry by Peter Marra
A Eulogy by Frankie Metro
A Song by Alexis Moon and Jonathan Penton
Poetry by Jay Passer
A Eulogy by Jonathan Penton
Visual Poetry by Anne Elezabeth Pluto and Bryson Dean-Gauthier
Visual Art by Marthe Reed
A Eulogy by Gabriel Ricard
Poetry by Alison Ross
A Short Movie by Bernd Sauermann
Poetry by Christopher Shipman
A Spoken Word Poem by Larissa Shmailo
A Eulogic Poem by Jay Sizemore
Elegic Poetry by Jay Sizemore
Poetry by Felino A. Soriano
Visual Art by Jamie Stoneman
Poetry by Ray Succre
Poetry by Yuriy Tarnawsky
A Song by Marc Vincenz

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Three Poems by Lisa Zaran

In the End

There will be less to bicker about.
Shadows will rise against a cornucopia
of lust-laden stars. The monumental
power of grief will astound us.
Beautiful children will fall asleep dreaming
of duplicity, an exclusionary tradition earned
only in the imagination.

I can not carry the world upon my shoulders
any longer. And so I challenge myself
not to strike the profound with my symphony
of complaints. I promise not to disclose.
From both a great distance and also too near
to be ignored, I celebrate all the little suicides
I remember so well.


Because the question arises.
Strangers alongside have no qualms
asking. It's a misfortune, their ideas,
when all I hear is this ominous knocking.

A thousand times my heart has broken
over such doors!

I sit well today. I'm good friends with certainty.
She even bought me a ticket to the movie:
Things Killed Inside of Me.

Coming from ruin,
the man offers me his chest
to cry on. I don't cry, but I do lay my head down.


Let my heart fill with stars.
Let the pewter you gave me,        as a child, mother,
send shivers down
my daughter's spine.

Let the ink on the paper
not bleed, a blue mess
into Alice's clear eyes.

Let the rain

Let the sun shine
bright against my shoe-stepped shadow.
Let the shadow, unnamed, have a history.

If I choose to write
let the words touch the skin of my loved ones.
If I choose not to write
let my actions speak in volumes.

Perhaps then                   I'll be a pomegranate bursting.

Red seeds.
Stains everywhere.

Lisa Zaran is a Pushcart nominee and the author of seven collections. Her latest book titled If It We (Lummox Press), released in April 2012 is currently the focus of a translation course in Germany. Selections from her other books have been translated to Bangla, Hindi, Arabic, Chinese, German, Dutch, Persian and Serbian. Lisa is founder and editor of Contemporary American Voices, an online collection of poetry by American poets. She lives and writes in Arizona.

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