The name of god is O
Susan Hawthorne

The name of god is O
She was born in Baghdad
between the legs
of that fertile crescent

The O
The zero
invented here between the waters
of the Tigris and the Euphrates

The Gate of Ishtar shines
one hour’s drive from Baghdad
Paradise, Eden’s Garden,
the cradle …
all rising out of the sand

Towers fall
like the speakers
incomprehensible
leaping from the listing Babel

The O
The zero
The zero and the one
are

Now
Sandi Hall

I awake knowing I have had the strangest dream, but all that remains of it is a sense of sunlight whiter and dryer than here, and hills that were brown with dying grass.
There was a woman too, someone familiar but also someone I cannot identify with my wakeful mind. Freudians and Jungians alike would say it is a nascent memory of my mother, or of being in the womb, and New Agers would say it is my spirit guide or higher self. If only I could believe in such

A Tale of Two Dogs
Rose Zwi

I was about six years old when my father brought Ruby home. He had found the whimpering pup in the lane behind his shop, starving, rheumy-eyed. Before my mother could say dog’s mess, I had installed him in the laundry, on my doll’s blanket. The stiff, expressionless kewpie doll was no competition for the warm, brown-eyed pup who looked at me with trusting, soulful eyes.
Ruby had the long body and short, bowed legs of a Dachshund, and the

The Wake
Renée

The four of them are there behind Father Pederson.  He says good morning but they don’t say good morning or even hello.  They stare at Souvie.  They see a tall thin woman with dark short hair, shadowed eyes, pale face, wearing blue jeans, cream jersey, stylish brown boots.  There is a strong smell of wine.  Her jersey of course.  And she’s carried her glass with her.  Their darkest convictions about her will now be confirmed.  Eleven in the morning and

the walls of Lesbos
Miriel Lenore

to build a Lesbian wall
take big rough stones

don’t cut to fit
they are themselves undressed

balance each with care
use no cement no force

large gaps remain
the strength is in the touching

and the spaces

singing the dawn

a kookaburra laughs above us
on the track
we agree
we are ridiculous
one fat one old big hats
big boots binoculars
& comfortable rag-bag clothes

but in our canvas cave
as bird calls