By Kim Farrar
Featured Art: “Window Stamp” by Alex Brice

At four-thirty a.m., I contemplate 
how to catch the bright white moon. 

Do I need both bright and white?  
I conjure my doubts. Start again. 

Then, thankfully, a window flies open 
and out leans my cranky neighbor, 

hair in curlers, timeless housedress, 
but no rolling pin, only fists. 

Her fury echoes off the buildings, 
shaming her no-goodnik son below. 

She jangles the keys from six stories up, 
warns him not to be an idyot, 

and lets go. They accelerate  
at thirty-two feet per second squared. 

When he catches them, I’m surprised  
by how happy that makes me 

and I’ve forgotten all about the stupid moon,  
a little lower now, just above the chimney. 

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Kim Farrar is a writer and collage artist. Her poetry collection, The Impossible Physics of the Hummingbird, was released in 2025 by Unsolicited Press. Her two chapbooks, The Familiar and The Brief Clear, were published by Finishing Line Press. Her poetry and essays have been widely published in literary journals. Her hybrid piece, “Why I Never Get Anywhere…” won the 2024 New Millennium Writings nonfiction contest. She was a semi-finalist in Grayson’s Poetry Contest in 2022 and 2021. She is a three-time Pushcart Prize nominee. For more about her work, visit her website at Poetrysite.blog.