Category Archives: Broadside

Broadside #49 – (Fall 2017 / 17.11)

Posted on November 15, 2017 by

Broadside #49 (Fall 2017 / 17.11) Judi Walsh, with artwork by Robert Bharda Blueprint Before I am born I watch my mother hoping this time will be different. I know this time won’t be different, but the heart should have … Continue reading →

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Broadside #48 – (Fall 2017 / 17.10)

Posted on November 1, 2017 by

Broadside #48 (Fall 2017 / 17.10) Sarah Key Glow Her       A Forward Sestina In darkness she needs my glow, her glow gone for now into his roaring fire my sister moves in and out of darkness that needs her flame. … Continue reading →

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Broadside #47 – (Winter 2017 / 17.2)

Posted on February 15, 2017 by

Broadside #47 (Winter 2017 / 17.2) Catherine McNamara Asunder He parks the rental car at the train station, which is a post-Fascist box with marble planes, diminished by concrete extensions on either side. After the unchecked sensuality of the Baroque … Continue reading →

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Broadside #46 – (Winter 2017 / 17.1)

Posted on February 1, 2017 by

Broadside #46 (Winter 2017 / 17.1) Lily Herman Red Talk to me about red honey: That psychoactive syrup culled from Himalayan bees who feed on the poisonous white rhododendron. How only a little of the toxic honey will peel back … Continue reading →

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Broadside #45 (Fall 2016 / 16.11)

Posted on November 16, 2016 by

Broadside #45 (Fall 2016 / 16.11) Stella Pierides The Path At the top of the stairway snaking up the hill, a white-washed chapel and an olive tree. Blinding sunlight. Some way to go yet. The stony stairs are narrow, a couple … Continue reading →

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Broadside #44 (Fall 2016 / 16.10)

Posted on November 3, 2016 by

Broadside #44 (Fall 2016 / 16.10) Melissa McEwen Angels It’s not always a downer or dangerous to live       here like they show you on the news. What they don’t show you, can’t show you is the feel good       feeling I … Continue reading →

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Broadside #43 – (Winter 2016 / 16.3)

Posted on February 29, 2016 by

Broadside #43 (Winter 2016 / 16.3) Tracey Upchurch The Stone Baby Fourteen weeks. I felt you; they said you’d be too small but my belly trembled under your feet. I sensed your entrapment, your restlessness, your need to feel and … Continue reading →

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