Featured Poet: Anja Jerkovic

Isla and Sofia

On Saint Patrick’s day
she dresses the girls in
green and shows them
leprechauns, talks about
Ireland like some place
to one day turn back to,
worth seeking.

Who am I to say
what history is worthy
of their tending to?
It isn’t green here,
you have to dig through
the rubble.

So I spend my days welding,
shovels and picks and
attempting to prepare the tools
to help them make their way
through the ruins.


I run back from the
a poem in my
where to put it,
where to place it,
while it’s still hot?


Once we shared
dotted lines,
now we ask to see
some id.
I bring to them
my own questions,
but no one knows what
I mean.

I am hungry for
the specifics–

What I mean is,
our tongues danced joyfully,
in unison.


Droba said,
i’d just know-
But I just don’t

I’m tied to my indecision.

he said that 2 people
can only know one another
once they’ve swallowed

He read it in a book somewhere-

Then he asked me, Do
I believe in God?

But to forget all that
religious stuff,
just before he went back
to his beer bottle
and continued on about
being the Creator of