Issue > Poetry
Bridget Gage-Dixon

Bridget Gage-Dixon

Bridget Gage-Dixon’s poetry has previously appeared in The Adirondack Review, 2River View and, as well as several others. She is currently an M.F.A. candidate at Stonecoast/ University of Southern Maine. She lives in New Jersey with her husband and three children.


All winter the flag flapped against the tree trunk
struggled to shrug off the snow.
The chimney conspired, threw embers
on the rug, startled the dog who waddled on arthritic legs,
barked out a steady rebuke of flame.
We grew accustomed to these insignificant flares,
began to respond more slowly, to finish stirring the soup,
pouring the tea, before stomping out the sparks.
We watched through ice-glazed windows
as fresh snow fell into the frozen footprints
that marked the path from door to driveway.
Even the snowman standing guard in the front yard,
Stared through button-blind eyes as new flakes bore down,
collapsed the wings of aging angels.


Jeff Schiff
Carrying Room to Room


Stuart Dischell
Because You Have Seen It So


Jessica Johnson
Tonight's Anatomy