No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story. No Kings.
Marcus Ray is convinced that it’s a man’s obligation to take full control, and that’s paid off for him: married to the same woman for forty-two years, employed by SunCertain his entire adult life, mortgage paid, money in the till. He retired four years ago at age sixty-six, studied the market and invested well, put his son through Boston College and Fordham Law, supplied the funds his daughter needed to open her own gallery in Tucson.
Hate crimes are on the rise, especially against Latinos
You grab new leggings, skirts & more
[author] [author_image timthumb=’on’][/author_image] [author_info]Stanley Kaplan has published poetry and flash in a number of journals including Onthebus, Convergence, Chiron and JuxtaProse. He paints as well a writes. He is the Recipient of a Pollock-Krasner Foundation grant.[/author_info] [/author]
Winter 2000
Maria leaned over our first-grade lunch table, her brown bob swinging. She wanted my last Cheeto, which I considered my end-meal treat. It had extra-large bumps, on which clung an ample dusting of cheese powder. It glowed fluorescent orange in the plastic baggie, taunting me. I practiced discipline, spooning applesauce until it was gone, before I would let myself eat it. My mom set rigorous rules for meals, one being that we needed to finish each meal’s designated fruits or vegetables before we ate a treat.
Anniversary
If your death were human,
it would have turned adult
yesterday, and I missed
the occasion. Downwind
from your memory,
I revoke the small sentiments
that flatter and stamp
my estimation of you.
Every morning I continue my evening prayer
and then I scatter myself like a trunk cut off by the hands
of a blind and crazy slave in several pieces,
which carry in their yellow sap the smell of the earth.