Public Republic

Leatha Kendrick Photo: slingshots+meo remalante A day at home, no big news. Alone, with CNN and tea, stiff bones of the Christmas tree, ravenous for unsweet things. After the gush of singing, unsought treats and gifts, it’s time to pay. A rush to Returns’ endless line. A fine for late-mailed, past-due bills. It’s back to […]

Becca Books Photo: brains the head I know I’m near. Not so bad as some. Here, I mean. Here ― whatdoyoucallit. Wait, it will come. I wanted to die in my own little head; but after the ― clock? No… stroke! Stroke of midnight, that’s how I got there. Here, I mean, to the Test […]

Sheri Wright Jim Lally’s love of earth is presented to us quietly, deeply, much like his description of a Quaker gathering in his poem At The Quaker Meeting. This book shows us that we can live in a balanced way with our surroundings, with each other and that change does not require coercion, that it […]

Roumen Leonidov Photo: Mira Dimova Every morning I tear away the tip of my tongue so that I can lick so that I can lick and I lick and I lick tranquilly the fishbone of tranquility. Who can keep me from licking I was ordered to lick my lips I was ordered to lick my […]

Kenneth Pobo Photo: mikebaird My Sunday School teacher mom wears a green dress. In baggy pants, bow tie, I’m thinking about Mama Cass, Question Mark and the Mysterians, Keith. Glenn laughs, talks out of turn, interrupts. His mom, Lydia, stalks in, gives him a SLAP across the face. Glenn, no expression, like he wants to […]

Christina Lovin Photo: FotoDawg The snow came first, and then the rain— it froze to everything exposed, increased upon itself like grief or love left unexpressed, until the heavy branches sagged with melancholy weight. Some crashed to earth, some fingered roofs or cars, electric lines like arcs of flight across the frozen air.

Leatha Kendrick Photo: rolands.lakis This boy sleeps on my lap, his fists curled and pink as April oak leaves. His feet root against my arm. His head a soft arc against my bent arm. When I reach across his belly’s curve, my arm brown-spotted, pale, his breath unfurls a scream. I am the rotting log […]

Christina Lovin Photo: clspeace “A woman without humor is a lost woman.” Djuna Barnes Nellie wore Slightly Wicked cologne— the bottle shapely, a deep shade of rose: that blush from a woman who understands the bawdy joke, the double entendre— a knock off ordered from catalogs of household supplies—brushes, brooms, dust mitts, cleanser— and delivered […]

Mariana Velichkova Photo: Catherinette Rings Steampunk I have tried so many times to forget about you to delete you to erase you to get over you even to pretend I never met you And of course to graciously move on… Well, with the same success air or fire can turn into a stone.

Becca Books Photo: jurek d. Fifty years here. Then all in one stroke… My turn now. No help but to go. I’m Old Folk. Let me see, let me see. What will I need? What does it mean when you’re even past need? The one single thing I wish I could bring Is the warming […]

Peycho Kanev Photo: Pink Sherbet Photography are dead and although I am still leaning towards this window can no longer hear their barking against the moon; the cats are sleeping on the red rug redder than a blooming rose, redder from your blood and I think of leaping bodies from the bridges of the world, […]

Roger Conner, Jr Photo: ComputerHotline Everyone wants to get home from work, because of the snow, you know? I left the store going slow, and coasted, it looked a bit dangerous, glistening crystals. The light was green to go, the right turn was home, but I went on. Straight through the light, I couldn’t stop, […]

Becca Books Photo: eXage The poor things! Every one with the cold of the world ‘round her shoulders ― and that’s not to mention the weight of the man, unless it’s the stab of his absence. Some come from ashes, some dust, some clay;                          but none is numb. I had a scar or two of […]

Bojidar Pangelov Photo: neofito With its death the day gilds                 the leaves. I know the names of                 the tree and it doesn’t matter for                 beauty. Translated from Bulgarian by Katerina Stoykova-Klemer

Maria Aladzhova’s interview with Huang Xiang and William Rock In this issue of Artist of the week Public Republic presents you Huang Xiang and William Rock – two incredible artists and creators of The Century Mountain Project. The Century Mountain Project is an East/West collaboration of art that creates a “visual dialogue across humanity.” Huang […]

Leatha Kendrick Photo: koalazymonkey Remember the milk (2% of the time I forget.) Remember              that Brown Swiss calf we brought              home in the back seat of Daddy’s old gray Dodge?

Bob Baker’s interview with Jeannine Hall Gailey Jeannine Hall Gailey is the author of Becoming the Villainess. Poems from the book appeared on Verse Daily and on The Writer’s Almanac, and two were chosen for the 2007 The Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror. She teaches at National University and volunteers at Crab Creek Review. Suppose […]

Donal Mahoney Photo: Marco Fedele To lie in bed this morning of a snow when neither of us has to go anywhere for hours at least. To sprawl and talk of what we hope for. Better, what we know the years will bring and contemplate just knowing we can see it all up there on […]

Katerina Stoykova-Klemer’s interview with poet Sheri Wright Sheri L. Wright is the author of four books of poetry, Sharks Never Sleep, Nuns Shooting Guns, Contains Scenes of Indigenous Nudity and The Courtship of Reason, (2010). Her work has been published in journals across the country, including Out of Line, Clarke Street Review and Earth’s Daughters. […]

Barry George Photo: victoriapeckham In the poems throughout Seed Across Snow, Kathleen Driskell’s careful attention to details creates the feeling of a heightened attentiveness to life. Nowhere is this more evident than in two of her poems about motherhood, “Why I Mother You the Way I Do” and “Seed.” In these two compelling poems, Driskell […]