Selfie of March as Infatuation by Lori Lamothe

Selfie of March as Infatuation Change, as always, arrives late to the party. The pines in the yard stand ringed around stasis, the tips of their branches dripping dirty rain onto snow’s faded carpet. Even the sky stands off in a corner ignoring the small talk of crows, its gray coat draped over its shoulders….

Jennifer Martelli

The Tao of Virgil Sollozzo by Jennifer Martelli

The Tao of Virgil Sollozzo   Look at my veiny hands. Look at the bare trees’ branches— we’re holding up the winter sky, giving it back its darkness. A pack of menthol cigarettes, a half empty bic lighter; cleaned out clam shell found on the beach by the stone calendar. In the movie, the doomed…

Jake Tringali

Hands of Chance by Jake Tringali

Hands of Chance form shadow puppets, shallow spirits hidden souls born skip across the evening piano, speeding allegro fleeting little song pour firewater liquors, for the tipplers morning’s remorse scar canvas with dark crayon, art seance exquisite corpse flick the card deck, bar bet conjure lost kings light his cigarette, fingers pirouette now his heart…

Unsplash / Rain

Two Poems by Rachel Peevler

Symphony Rain. An elastic halo of broken serenity hung over their helmets. Lightning and thunder symphonies roared. Little jewel notes collapsed from the gray canopy and shattered across their exposed skin like glass. They stood still and poised in the rising tempest and, turning their faces to the sky, they squinted through the rain at…


Winter Rain by Kathryn Knudson

Winter Rain   A few months in, the rain     is no longer a novelty.     I don’t know what           feels more defeating     the understanding that this relentless seeping       could be winter for        as far as I can see     or the realization that this        time next year I may choose to be bundled up   a thousand miles away…

After Hours with Orange by Tom Holmes

Here is the defense against the negative forces of denial and death. Here in the city of taverns, dance clubs, and after-hour sex parlors. Here, in the night, with the presence of other and uncanny. And everyone who is exposed to or immersed in its early hours is tinged with mimetic failure. Here is the…

Birdcage by Katherine Neale

As witnesses of grief we become dark of tongue dark of heart. Grey birds inhabit our bodies settling in the most intimate places. The birds squat in our ankles. They flutter in our knees. They peck at our fingers. They fold themselves in the inner ear tucked away from the lighting that strikes the skull…

Watching Pomegranates Fall by Cindy Maresic

It’s dusk in the alley behind the house. You reach for the lamp with its sudden light and react to the string of shadows breaking against the back wall. The dog comes in from the yard. She watches you for a moment with her amber eyes, yawns, then turns to go on with her life. You…

Burial Mother by Emma Colman

Digging through dirt, my mother finds a delicate sponge-like skull with the tip of her shovel. The crown of it gives up and sags in with a crunch. Peeling matted fur from his surface, angled sockets of a rodent shining clean, she presses the reddish mess between curious cracking fingers. The work sucks the moisture…

All rights revert to our authors on publication. Please don't mess with our authors or photographers. ©Apeiron Review