Tipton Poetry Journal
Letter to My Children Erin Wilson When I go I don't want you to grieve. I mean this. I'm not feigning generosity. I want you to behold the bumblebee getting sexy with the flower. Take in a sudden waft of cedar. Drink pop. Eat chips. Watch a good foreign flick. If you must cry, let it be after a good laughing jag. One day when travelling you'll come upon a horse standing in a lighted field. Notice that light. Erin Wilson has contributed poems to San Pedro River Review, Up the Staircase Quarterly, New Madrid, MockingHeart Review, and Mobius, The Journal of Social Change, among others. She lives in a small town in northern Ontario.
Hundred Years’ War Yvonne Green This is the most important moment In the last 15 years and the next 85 And you exoticise repression, Enjoy opera about benign supremacists Interspersed by elegant picnics, course by course Reassured over champagne, insulated. This is the most important moment In the last 15 years and the next 85 and over and over again you reason, That and that and that would be enough To make me into a terrorist, as though You can explain, relieve, own the mayhem With reason, transform it by your act Of imposed, assumed humanity.
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