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Allison Thorpe lives and writes from a stone house near Sulphur Well, Kentucky, where she dreams of becoming an international poker player. The author of one book of poems and one chapbook, she has appeared in a variety of journals, some of which include Appalachian Heritage, Green Mountains Review, Vine Leaves Literary Journal, Poem, Snail Mail Review, Wind, and Juggler’s World. The following poems are from a manuscript entitled The House of Growing Up.
The following work is Copyright © 2014, and owned by Allison Thorpe and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
the economics of oatmeal
A tepid lump-riddled concoction
I imagined I was magic
Then conjuring in their warm kitchen
photo with church hats
My mother insisted on the outing
Plopped the wide flat saucers
Stiff scratchy ribbon hard tied
Below that blessed gauding
Maybe Mother hoped for miracles—
Photo blurred in haste or hate
Chris Flynn, an Ohio transplant, lives in Davenport, Florida where, to his Chagrin (an Ohio city next to the town in which he grew up), anoles crawl over and sometimes inside, every inch of his house. Check out Chris’s book Collected from a second-hand laptop.
The following work is Copyright © 2014, and owned by Chris Flynn and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
When I called that thing a gecko,
Actually, Webster’s on-line audio
Also from my neighbor that day
Whatever one calls them,
This morning, one sticky-footed lizard
In that moment, I discovered
Afterwards, I read that an anole’s tail
When I saw my neighbor again,