We the people come from all places.
We don’t talk to each other, or maybe we say,
my God, would you look at that,
because here is a moose beside a log,
beside the dead trees.
Let us stop our cars and gape as if an accident has happened here
because an accident has brought us together.
We the people, from all different worlds
coming together to march out of cars,
move our limbs and walk toward the antlers
in the chilly air, bearing binoculars.
Some of us, when we are done,
will get back in our cars and drive on.
We will have nothing, really, to say –
but we took photographs. We’ll remember it that way.
About the author
Elisabeth currently lives in Chicago where she sings, doodles and learns how to play the cello and keep her plants alive. She's had bits…Read the full bio
Issue 15 · June 2012
Table of contents
- From the editors
- The Museum of Gug
- An Ancient Citizen’s Tweets From Athens, Greece
- Roman Haiku by Richard Kenney
- USA, an excerpt
- Long Distance with Camel
- Paengaroa Skype-fishing
- Two Poems by Nina Bahadur
- Gift of Nous
- Two Excerpts by Anne Germanacos
- Teresa of Avila Compares the Soul to a Palm Cabbage
- Views from Above
- Two poems by Karen Greenbaum-Maya
- Taking the First Shot After a Three-Year Absence
- Postcard Prose
- Travel Notes