by Janet Taliaferro | Sep 28, 2010 | Poetry
I The line dividing her forehead between green eyes sharp as a hatchet cut off the words. I could not hear her scold could not answer. She never knew how I too grieved the loss of a red patent purse with one buffalo nickel inside. II The Sunday I lost my red purse I...
by Janet Taliaferro | Jul 20, 2010 | Short Fiction
WANTED TO BUY: Mercedes 300SL-Gullwing. For further information, call 516-5… Carmine DeSilva’s coffee cup covered the rest of the phone number, but the Long Island area code caught his attention. He stared at the newspaper. Reading the want ads had become a habit with...
by Janet Taliaferro | Jul 12, 2010 | Poetry
the center holds eternal eye of the hurricane vortex of the maelstrom infinite calm seen only in the gyre the movement around it sensed, uncontrolled feared and called random passion and conviction pull reason round a drunken spiral the blood is in the turning not in...
by Janet Taliaferro | Jun 15, 2010 | Poetry
The sun, steady in its season warms seed, breeds the mayfly ripens grain and dries the foal. It rises daily to show its faithful head earlier in summer longer to bed in winter bright faced or cloud veiled rarely eclipsed by the changeable moon it pursues its duty...
by Janet Taliaferro | Jun 10, 2010 | Poetry
Fine furniture made in the late years between World Wars and marked “Germany” sits on tiny needlepoint rugs Mother made one summer. Rearranged first by me and then by the careful fingertips of daughter and granddaughters, miniature dishes and lamps have lost their...
