Month: March 2018

Installment 15 features two poems by Eileen Hugo. Both pieces travel in transitory directions and offer quick but lingering glimpses into acts that are only supposed to last for a short time.   *** Car Kissing in the Rain Rain drops made circles and moved down the windows in small rivers that branched out and down to the hood of the car heavy rain drummed the roof and our pulses it was steamy outside and in with the curtain drawn passions escalated but this was car kissing     nothing more *** Leaving From the car window I see the road that leaves this frigid town. It only goes south past one school, one store with a gas pump and one dingy church. Curls of acrid smoke bunch into a dark haze that stays trapped above your cliche house. Porch railing broken one car on blocks surrounded by scattered remains of the stand-ins you have used up. I don’t see you when I pass by I wave anyway. *** My name is Eileen Hugo and I am a poet. I am retired and doing all the things I love. I have been published in the anthologies Southern Breezes and The Baby Boomer Birthright, and most recently The Taste Of Ink, a collaboration of poets from Mid-Coast Maine. I also served time as the Poetry Editor for The Houston Literary Review. In April of...