‘Now’s Dark’ at Bone Orchard Poetry

#1   now’s dark is a clever adjustment of the iris to the notlight,   now’s dark is an anguish of silhouette hidden in tree’s whispering reed   now’s dark is a white chair beneath a tree moon-illumined and somehow wrongly set   there..    #2   now’s dark is a heap of mottled silver-black…

Sewage Babies and Missing by Deborah Watkins

Sewage babies   Put on our Sunday best for Mass. Let on we haven’t heard about dead babies in Tuam. Eight hundred infants, bunkered in human filth. Bones tossed like old coins, dump of dead currency.   To those who defend servants of God and state: ‘They did the best with what they had.’ What…