On:

My friend, Sean, saidin a poem, he could hearhis dead father’s bones singing.When December comes, your birthdaymonth, the air whistlesthrough the snow laden boughsand I think it is youon your way home. Lynette G. Esposito, MA Rutgers, has been published in Poetry Quarterly, North of Oxford, Twin Decades, Remembered Arts,Continue Reading

On:

The unnamed God took his axand wielded it so hardhe hacked the indigo sky.Flinted sparks flewlike silver birds,like light in the dark–like stars in flight. Lynette G. Esposito, MA Rutgers, has been published in Poetry Quarterly, North of Oxford, Twin Decades, Remembered Arts, Reader’s Digest, US1, and others. She wasContinue Reading

On:

the aching snowflakes cling like cold butterflies to the black fingers of dark barren trees reaching upward to the storm-driven sky with no recourse but to bear  the onslaught of the storm and the wind’s winter teeth… a tempest. Lynette G. Esposito, MA Rutgers, has been published in Poetry Quarterly,Continue Reading

On:

Rules of the game, Pray thee know, Are many in the beginning And few when you go. Take up thy May flowers And scatter them wide For your funeral is coming After you’ve died. And those who come to pay the last goodbye with sorrow in their hearts and tearsContinue Reading

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If we put them in boxes, they will hold up better.No, they won’t be able to breathe.They aren’t breathing anyway.We need a stasis box. That way they won’t deteriorate any further.What do you think they do with these long extensions stuck to their shoulders?Do you think they could fly withContinue Reading

On:

“Look what you have done, Daddy. Those people in the little houses can stay in their homes. My friend, Bill, lives there. He is the neatest guy. Can we go see him sometime?” “We have to go to the hospital for your treatment today, Johnny. Maybe.” “Maybe what? They saidContinue Reading

On:

He came to us in that odd way A feline knows– A porch seat empty, An opened can of tuna on the step His mind, a cat’s mind, simply seeking warmth and food. This feral creature did not know the generosity of a back rub, the safety of a lap.Continue Reading

On:

Across the western plain silence travels one unsteady foot at a time staggering, twisting, forward until even the birds stop their noisy chatter to watch his coming. The thirsty earth’s dry tongue avoids the travel- weary feet, licks at the pathway puddles but is not satisfied. Silence comes. Still. ShakespeareContinue Reading

On:

Morn at its bright birth Brought light’s sweet forthcoming hue rejecting the dark. Lynette Esposito has been published in Poetry Quarterly, Inwood Indiana, Walt Whitman Project, That Literary Review, North of Oxford, and others. She was married to Attilio Esposito.Continue Reading

On:

Marco had schizophrenia.  He thought he was magic. When he walked down the street and was in his normal state, he acted with kindness.  He gave the few coins his sister gave to him, to the ones with signs that said “HUNGRY.” He wasn’t hungry.  At least not today.  AtContinue Reading