Latte Archives
Poetry

Fall 2016 Issue

stormy weather By Aletha Irby

Winner, 2016 Literal Latte Food Verse Contest.
when greymalkin fisticuffs
and his sidekick
gherkin fiddlesticks
flanked by kinktail
the celtic-knot-tailed tomcat
minnie the moocher….

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The Neutron Bomb, Afterward By Brad Aaron Modlin

Just the rain clouds remember how to move
in this city of rotting bird nests and unfinished bottles…

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Lot’s Wife Beckons By Brad Aaron Modlin

Stillness and breathing are simple in this pillow
of salt. Here choices don’t exist — a lullaby.
Isn’t this what you want too, a space as white…

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Through the Loupe By E.M. Schorb

Great quiet things reside in viewpoint, if we think oddly enough. The leaf of grass, of course, when a child — how it looks to the ant like a frond. Life lied by size, pen lied by ink, later, everything lied…

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Winter 2016 Issue

For Crows and Old Men By Denise DiMarzio

Winner, 2015 Literal Latte Food Verse Contest.
The same cloth has lain for years over the table in the kitchen
where he sits in a white T-shirt, his chin greasy from gnawing
the chicken crooked in the hollow between finger and thumb, bones
piled on a tin pie plate…

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It’s Getting Late for Brussels Sprouts By Denise DiMarzio

Winner, 2015 Literal Latte Food Verse Contest.
Glorious for weeks now, pale leaves shining green,
and at last the smallest of sprouts appearing —
sitting tight like tiny Buddhas on the stalks…

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There Are Things Which Need Fixing By Elisa Díaz Castelo

Second Prize, 2015 Literal Latte Poetry Award.
The old man’s hunch, the broken rib,
the lingering cough, the arm in a cast,
the ingrown toenail.
There are things that need fixing!

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Ode to the Radiator By Elisa Díaz Castelo

Second Prize, 2015 Literal Latte Poetry Award.
Called back
from sleep
and stilled,
I hear you…

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In Defense of Goldie Locks By Jeanne Wagner

Third Prize, 2015 Literal Latte Poetry Award.
The social worker says She’s not quite a sociopath, though she does have a problem with boundaries. I say she’s only a child, young enough to play house,..

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Self-Portrait as Kurt Cobain’s Childhood Wound By Elizabeth Knapp

First Prize, 2015 Literal Latte Poetry Award.
If I were Kurt’s childhood wound, what would I look like? The speaker stares off into the middle distance and tries to imagine Aberdeen, mid-seventies, a flaxen-haired kid who would become the next rock legend, and not the gaping hole of his left eye socket…

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