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Volume I, Number 1 (Summer 2006)
ISSN 1934-4324

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NEW-CUE, Inc. is a non-profit, environmental education organization founded primarily to assist writers and educators who are dedicated to  enhancing  the public's awareness of environmental issues.




Anthony Liccione

Anthony Liccione is from Upstate New York and has been writing poetry for 13 years. He has recently won the LizaBeth Poetry Award and Unscrambled Eggs Contest, and was nominated for a Pushcart Prize (Meeting of the Minds Journal) and Best Poem of Year 2005 (Muses Review). He released his second chapbook Parched and Colorless with The Moon Publishing, and a full-volume book of poems Back Words and Forward (ISBN: 1424113563). He is a proofreader for an online writing resource site TheWriting Bug.


Surrender to Myself

A child is at my window,

pale and frail, a mouth straight

and crossed as a pin-

with see-through eyes

he pierces at me with his past,

stitching it on into my future.

And there I see his father,

putting him down in the crib

for the night, and closing his

bedroom door then walking away,

a way he never came back and

opened the door again.

Now ill-fated it is for me

to watch this child standing

outside the fire, I want to draw

the blinds and pull down the shades

to the scales under his eyes,

and as I do, shutting out this someone

casting his gaze like black coals

glowing reddish from an after burn.

A coerce nudges at me to tell him

that I know his walk where shallow

steps fall on hard concrete, the street

I identified with long ago,

that could end if went unwary.

And our faces become transparent

in the three-dimensional window,

with the ghost of me oppositely

haunt with his image, as a seasoned

leaf cuffing against a green leaf,

I saw that child crying at night

on his pillowcase. I saw a moon

that wouldn't let go until the break

of dawn. I wondered if when it

rained in Baltimore, it rained

in New York the same time.

I wondered if tears fell in heaven.

After I curtained the contained

face immersed in the window,

I went up the dark staircase

washed my hands and face,

and went to his bedroom, echoing

beside the unfinished B-9 model

airplane with detached wings-

where I peeked through the blinds,

to find him gone, leaving remnants

in parallel of no one on the sidewalk.





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