In a Twilight Town - Caleb Barber

At these hours a girl shows me the scar
she earned after her father's chainsaw
bucked against her calf while he evened
the backyard stumps. "It cut clear to my meat,"
she says. "They had to fly me to the city."
The rough, shiny lump is not grotesque.
Her leg has grown around the wound
same as how trees will hatchet swings.

She still wears skirts, for now, because
her body won't be a woman's for a few
more years, and free magazine offers
don't come this far out in the country.
The bald slice through one eyebrow is either
from barbed wire or dog. Could have
been her brother, before they sent him
to that school for boys just like him.

I'd like to hear about all those goldfish
that never survived through winter
on her parents' porch. I'd like to know how
the couch felt when it froze through.
But the plane for the mail route is spinning on
and this place will always be her stop.
The night makes us all older, and just walking
toward it, she covers her thighs with the dark.


Caleb BARBER
First published in The New Orleans Review

A Go at the Lifting Stone - Ralph Culver

"For many years a nearly round granite stone
about two feet in diameter sat at the easterly
corner of the front steps of the store now
owned by Frank E. Brown. Few men in the town
could lift it off the ground."
--Fred Pitkin's HISTORY OF MARSHFIELD, VERMONT, 1947

The hands, arms, shoulders and back
consult briefly. A new challenge
of some dimension, of serious intent.
Promise heaves in the brain. This
is our provincial glory!
The bet down--budge it, and you won't
have to buy your own beer for a week--
you think in a sense your future
lies bearing its secret under the stone,
the days breaking in your favor
or not an equation of space--
its possibilities--
conjuncting with the flesh
and its limitations;
all borne up forever on the skin
of the earth, a place that seems
suddenly new and somehow
getting younger by the minute
until you have the confirmation
you seek. By God,
you are about to learn something
(this being your sole duty);

and you learn something sure enough.
Next day, when the usual warriors
clap you on the armored brace,
your lips roll back like a dog's --
the bloody thing having not given
an inch. The sudden multitude
of flea-like urgencies in your ankle
you would rather die than bend
to attend to. Closing your eyes to this
and the uncompromising grins
stretched across the faces of
these yahoos buying you
beer after beer after beer.


Ralph CULVER
First published in Seven Days

10x3 plus...Choosing a poem to publish

Someone recently asked me how I choose the poems that I use in 10x3. I really wish possible contributors would read the actual magazine, but if you are not willing to order a copy of the journal, then you could always examine this blog or do a google search of the contributor's list and read the poems that these poets have published online.

However, I did compile a short list of some of what I look for:

1. Does this poem read outloud and can I hear it?
2. Do I understand this poem?
3. Have I read the same poem before? What's new about this poem? Does this poem take me anywhere that I haven't been already?
4. Does this poem relate to the next issue's cover artwork and/or any of the poems already accepted for publication? Is this poem worth a page or more, using up valuable space in the magazine?

I never really thought about the space issue much until Martin Turner pointed out to me on more than one occasion how much space I had used on certain poets (including him)! Now I give it more thought.

It's wonderful having a choice of poets for each issue, and as the journal continues to grow and gain more recognition, I have the pleasure of reading more good work. I hope those who are already familiar with the journal will pass the word along to their poetry-loving friends.

10x3 plus...Looking ahead to issue #4 featuring Dan Casado's artwork

The #4 issue is due out on Saturday, May 23, and I will begin mailing to contributors and subscribers right away. The contributor list for #4 is the longest of any issue yet:

The Ten: George Szirtes, Grace Cavalieri, Ron Padgett, Caleb Barber, Jefferson Carter, Llewellyn McKernan, Wendy Mooney, Ralph Culver, Michael Wurster, Dzvinia Orlowsky.

Plus: Mieczyslaw Jastrum (translated by Dzvinia Orlowsky and Jeff Friedman), Nimal Dunuhinga, Ron Pisciotta, Gary Witt, J.J. Steinfeld, Sara Warner, Penny Bayless, Mark Jackley, Saba Syed Razvi, Gabe Heilig, John Kay.

Featuring: Under the Eaves: selected entries on poetry and the muse of language by Martin Turner.

Price per issue is $8.00. Any 3 issues are available for $20.00. You can visit the web site to find out subscription and submission information.

Thanks for your support!

The War Dead - Sue Ann Simar

These are the bodies that must be cared for.
This hush of flesh, these swollen lips
that cannot offer praise or promise.
These glorious eyes look through me
and what I see are children, a fanfare of
children performing pratfalls on a stage.


Sue Ann SIMAR
First published in Endless Mountains Review

The Desert at Daybreak - Sue Ann Simar

What slips through my fingers is swifter than wind
with lively breath and a scent of death
a wisp of light
the first spoken words of a child


Sue Ann SIMAR
First published in Endless Mountains Review

White Pebbles - Michael Wurster

We were walking through the bees
under the trees that do not sing.
Smoke everywhere. And in the cottage
at the center of the forest, the rain
dripping from the roof. The children
would sleep or stare out. It was as if
I were a boy again, going down
in a white bed, not knowing.

They are what they are, he said,
handing us our check.
I remember that natal soil,
mother preparing the lentil soup.
What to predict, what to prefer?
White pebbles in our mouths smooth smooth.


Michael WURSTER
First published in The Blue Guitar.
Collected in THE SNAKE CHARMER'S DAUGHTER, Elemenope Productions, 2000.