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Spring 2011


- R. Baldasty
Beloved Albatross
- D. Bastianutti
From Trã Bãn
- K. Cain
The Current (La Corrente)
- L. Calio
Down with the King
- M. Cirelli
May Mass – 1957
- L. Dolan
- G. Fagiani
Persephone’s Devotion to Her Mother
- M. Fazio
- V. Fazio
- D. Festa
L’Amour, L’Amour on Summer Afternoons (L’Amour, L’Amour D’estati Filuvespiri)
- M. Frasca
- S. Jackson
- W.F. Lantry
Little Swift
- R. León
Since You Asked
- M. Lisella
Dublin 2010
- V. Maher
39 Fifth Avenue
- C. Matos
Sunrise in Sicily
- A. O’Donnell
Watching Monzú at Work
- F. Polizzi
L’incontru (Rendezvous)
- N. Provenzano
Propriu Quannu Sta Scurannu (When the Day Is Almost Over)
- N. Provenzano
Bones (Le Ossa)
- D. Pucciani
- E. Swados
Mount Etna
- G. Syverson
Poet Jack Foley Says, “We’re Not Writing for Eternity
- J. Wells
Lord of Winter
- A. Zanelli

Simon Jackson


On days so cold the woolly hanks
of passers breath are left when they have gone,
snagged upon the barbs of frozen air,
and auguries of glazed puddles
lend a window
to the mottled bone and shadow
of an impending underworld,
and ghostly sheep led home for long nights
are lost between the mist of field
and their own breath’s fog,
on a day such as this the Gaelic shepherds
coined a word unique to their tongue –
sgrìob, a term rich in anticipation
describing the itch on the upper lip
before the inaugural sip of the water of life,
that very first whiskey of the day.

*Sgrìob (Scottish Gaelic): an itch of anticipation, from the verb to scratch or scrape