Two Poems by R.B. Simon


Like all birds, mythical or not,
there is an egg.
Inside, darkness.  An ember.
Days uncounted, for days are of no
consequence, as the fiery sliver
        	lies within its yolk of ash.
It is no easy thing, birthing, when all
you remember is the close and dark;
yet driven by body’s demand for burning, white-hot
beak demanding exit, a sudden influx of oxygen
as flaming wings spread wide, at once aloft.
In the end, what makes one a phoenix is not
just the fire, but the flight.


It’s been an interminable winter
sun held close behind jealous
grey clouds. Icy mud trails into
my foyer, remnant of the
filthy season. But day lilies
spike their yellow-green limbs
though last year’s leaves, defiantly
pointing towards spring.
And on the warmest day yet,
I slip one shy foot out of my boot,
place it on the greening ground,
seeking the warm heartbeat
of a summer I know
must come eventually.

R.B. Simon is a queer artist and writer of African and European-American descent. She has been published inmultiple literary journals, and her chapbook, The Good Truth, was released by Finishing Line Press in July 2021. She currently lives in Madison, WI with her spouse, daughter, and four little dogs. 

Editor-in-Chief Laura Lee Washburn is the Director of Creative Writing at Pittsburg State University in Kansas, and the author of This Good Warm Place: 10th Anniversary Expanded Edition (March Street) and Watching the Contortionists (Palanquin Chapbook Prize).  Her poetry has appeared in such journals as TheNewVerse.News, Carolina Quarterly, Ninth Letter, The Sun, and Valparaiso Review.  Harbor Review’s microchap prize is named in her honor.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s