ISSUE THREE: Alertly Messy | next poem →

His Mother Writes The Warden, 1955

Kelly Nelson

Sir, my son was lost.
He was home but couldnít find
home. He said, "Can't they leave a guy alone
when he's been in trouble."

I was really proud
I hoped
I noticed
I waited
I probably sound
I donít know
I have learned
I wonít have

The night started, started strange.
Nobody seemed clean. These streets
are full of whiskey & widows. Blame other people
for my son. He is now yours.

Kelly Nelson is the author of the chapbook Rivers I Donít Live By (Concrete Wolf Press, 2014). Her poems published here were created from her uncleís 500-page prison record and are part of a book-length found poetry project supported by the Arizona Commission on the Arts. Her found poetry has also appeared in Verbatim, Found Poetry Review and NonBinary Review. She teaches Interdisciplinary Studies at Arizona State University.

ISSUE THREE: Alertly Messy | next poem →

ISSUE THREE: Alertly Messy

Kelly Nelson
   My Uncle at Nineteen
   His Mother Writes
      the Warden, 1955

Jon-Michael Frank
   Funny How Time Slips Away
   Not Fade Away

Jacqueline Jules
   Obsolete Angers

J. Bradley
   Yelp Review:
     Planned Parenthood
    of Greater Orlando

   Yelp Review:
     The Milk Bar

Amy Schriebman Walter
   Hope in a Yellow Dress

Miho Kinnas

Mark Povinelli
   Notes I
   Notes II

Kenneth Nichols
   The Best Writers
     Bombed the SAT

John Patsynski
   The Money Weapon

Aileen Bassis
   Pellucid Musing

Travis Macdonald
   When the Map's Crease
      Becomes an Axis
      and Detaches

Kris Hall
   Pyromanian I
   Pyromanian II

Claire Scott
   Harbor Lights

Elizabeth Kate Switaj
   Poseidon's Canto