Summer 2009

Table of Contents - Vol. V, No. 2


Poetry    Essays    Translations    Fiction   

Howie Good



The older kids at camp show us how.

I can’t always hear
what it is they’re saying,

only the grave, conspiratorial tone
in which they say it.

But when the spray from the can
hits the flame of the Bic lighter,


I look around -- mountains, a river,
the suggestion of a sun.

And so many things to burn.


© Howie Good



Poetry    Essays    Translations    Fiction   

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