Donal Mahoney - One Poem

Doubting Thomas

For years I've fed this feral cat at 4 a.m.,
a crouching mound of fur, Satanic black, with yellow eyes
that never blink. I call him "Doubting Thomas."

I place his can of Fancy Feast five feet or so from him.
He doesn't stir till I go in the house
and douse the porch light.

Then he leaps and cleans the can
and saunters off till 4 a.m. the following morning
when he's back again, eyes ablaze, crouching.

This pact I have with Doubting Thomas
helps me realize how God must feel
eons after the Big Bang.

Some folks, you see, aren't certain God lit that match.
Some believe the Big Bang just happened.
Out of nothing they believe something came to be.

I think the cat I feed at 4 a.m. agrees with them.
I'm sure he'd tell you Fancy Feast always was,
always will be and always will remain the same.

I wonder what that cat will do the day I die
when he arrives at 4 a.m. and finds the can
from yesterday empty where he left it.

There's no mystery as to what he'll do. 
He'll find another porch like mine where every morning
without a bang Fancy Feast just happens.

Biography: Donal Mahoney has worked as an editor for The Chicago Sun-Times, Loyola University Press and Washington University in St. Louis. He has had poems published in The Wisconsin Review, The Kansas Quarterly, The South Carolina Review, Commonweal, The Christian Science Monitor as well as a number of online publications.

Sarah E. White - One Poem

Panic

Anxiety, that dirty little word
Like a thousand hot knives penetrating my chest
The insane tightening of a heavy rope
Cinching tight, then tighter
Needles bearing down stabbing into me
Over and over they jab me
Piercing me through and through
I can hardly breathe yet they stab on
A gouging, a deep penetrating into my heart
Gripping at my lungs and squeezing ever so tightly
The words and actions of others are silently killing me
Like the muscled body of a serpent
Ratcheting
Constricting the life right out of me
They continue to squeeze
Making me gasp at the invisible air
Oxygen, just a figment to my panicked mind
Then the fear filters in again
Fear of anything, fear of everything
It grips me and just holds on
Shaking me fiercely within its jaws, cold blooded fear
Leaving me worn, ragged, exhausted
Craving safety
Shelter
Under the covers of my mind hiding like a child
Feet pulled up tight
The whole time thinking, breathe, just breathe, all you have to do is breathe
Breathing the fear away
Until next time

Biography: Sarah E. White is a native of Kentucky living now in Florida with her family. She began writing years ago and had her first works published in 1994. Her previous work can be found in The Devil’s Advocate, Going Dark, The Camel Saloon, Books on Blog: Don’t Get it Twisted, The Fringe Magazine, The Rainbow Rose, and Dead Snakes.

Stephen Jarrell Williams - One Poem

HER VISION

In the shadows...
she is
my love.

In the sunlight...
she is
my god.

Her vision
plants
roots deep
down my neck
heart
gizzard.

I cry blood
sacrificing
everything
for her...

Loving
the spread of her
living leaves.

Biography: Stephen Jarrell Williams was born in Fort Belvoir, Virginia.  His parents are native Texans.  He has lived most of his life in California.  He is the editor of Dead Snakes at http://deadsnakes.blogspot.com/