Summer 2009

Table of Contents - Vol. V, No. 2


Poetry    Essays    Translations    Fiction   

Chuck Levenstein



I seem to be grieving
For my mother, my father, my son,
For my brothers and others,
For myself prematurely,
For the life I might have led---

Such futility! Not that we do not
Deserve to be remembered,

But the last is certainly not finished,
And who knows
The mistakes yet to be made.

Body Talk

The witch taps head and chest
with long fingers and mutters thyroid, thymus,
presses down the resisting arm.

10AM or 4PM which does your body want,
I’m better at 4
she says but the group
from Cincinnati wants a demo in the morning.

Bony face, big nose, black eyes:
taps like a hungry chicken, mutters
grief, grief, and I know I’m in the right place---

This witch has got something for me.


© Chuck Levenstein



Poetry    Essays    Translations    Fiction   

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