for the man named afghan

d ellis phelps

September 6, 2026 

~UT Hill Country Clinic, July 2026

for the man named afghan

dressed in white linen

sneezing and coughing 

—his dutiful wife next to him

her body      shrouded in black hijab

her head and face covered

her feminine features reserved

only for him

the man to whom the receptionist said:

your insurance is no good here

you must pay

to see the doctor 

you must pay

the one whose broken english

could not help him say

he did not understand

why he had to pay

he had to pay       so much

health care in his country:

low cost or free

~

there is so much wrong here

~

privileged — a white woman

— i cannot watch this happening

i cannot speak his language

no one here does

i am no nurse

i cannot treat him

i cannot make his coverage pay

i cannot make the clinic change

policy 

after all

is policy

i cannot soften hard hearts

i cannot help everyone

so many people 

in so many lines

too much suffering

in the land of the free

change comes hard here

while debaters debate

believers believe

and lawmakers make laws

this man      can barely breathe

d. ellis phelps is the author of five collections of poems, most recently, book of common breath (Kelsay Books, 2026).

21st Century Texas Cowboy

Irene Keller

September 6, 2026

There he was

    a smug-tooting cowboy 

    strutting in a boot-stride determination 

    with a smirk on his face, a glint in his eyes     

    as his right hand embraced a Lone Star six pack, 

    his left caressing the grip of his holstered mini pistol.   

There I was 

    a nobody female

    trapped in his machismo expanse

    watching him move toward me then pass  

    as my body pressed against pain relievers, aisle #7,

    my quiet thought: dude, you’re only a drugstore cowboy.

Irene Keller, now and then, enjoys reading and writing satirical poetry. She believes laughter is good for the soul; thus, she wishes her Horatian type of satire will influence readers to laugh a bit. 

A Parenthesis of Texas Rivers

Jan Seale

August 2, 2026

On Sunday afternoons long ago,

in the Canadian River

top-hatting the Panhandle

we teens waded in, churned our feet,

dared the quicksand reach our waists.

Then we screamed our boyfriends 

into action. They dived in, 

finding handles on our suits

and beyond, to extricate us, 

lust championing over danger.

We did this again and again 

while the river danced, benevolent,

and the quicksand shrank, a jilted lover.

Long after, our family is invited to water ski 

on the Rio Grande, a giant state’s worth 

away from the Canadian. It’s Sunday, 

and a family calls from the Mexican side,

imploring our skipper to come for them:

Por favor! Tengo dinero! Tengo plata!

We hold tight to the rope, feel this seam 

of two nations spray us, threatening, 

taunting at our foolish freedom, a secret 

of the coming decades mocking us: 

this river now dressed in the belt of The Wall,

shod in Boots-on-the-Ground. 

Jan Seale lives in deep South Texas.  She has authored nine poetry volumes as well as books in fiction, nonfiction, and children's literature.  She is the 2012 Texas Poet Laureate.

The Old North Forty

Roberta S. Dohse

August 2, 2026

Breezes lift up over the field stretching to the south

Rain is coming and Grandpa is off 

Off to check the north forty

Back in a time when everyone knew

Exactly what that meant.

Back when the churn still sat in the kitchen

And screen doors banged with the slightest wind

And flies crept in to suck the poison 

From ribbons of flypaper hung near the stove

And the phone rang two longs and a short.

When the old Model A still sat in the field

And a lucky man had a small umbrella perched 

Above his head, small protection from the sun 

As long hours were spent, going back and forth

Tilling and planting and reaping.

From time to time I still go out 

To see the old north forty 

A big operator rents it now, and I ache 

That we no longer live off the land,

Our 160 acres that used to be enough.

I miss the old days, even the work

The wonder of growth, the precariousness

Of it all, the soil, the rain, grasshoppers or fire

But oh that precious time with family,

Eating meals together even mid-day.

Animals were still in the barn

Or out in the pastures, heading toward home

As twilight neared or storms threatened

And mom would rush out to beat the rain, gathering

Sheets and clothes left hanging on the line

And sister would run to gather from the garden 

Berries and squash and potatoes for dinner

And when wind picked up or lightning crashed 

We prayed that the crops would savor the rain

And not be blown flat or ruined by hail.

And I still wouldn’t change that life for the world.

The old north forty looks good tonight.

Roberta Shellum Dohse hails primarily from California. After living on a farm in northern Minnesota and in Oregon, she moved to Texas in 1980, attended law school, and has practiced law in Corpus Christi since 1997. Formerly a flight instructor and a college professor, she has always loved to write.

Texas in the Balance

Thomas Hemminger

August 2, 2026

Texas rain follows Texas heat. 

Sun rays blister for a time, 

‘til moisture can raise clouds.

Thunderstorms don’t frighten 

parched people and cracked land. 

Too dry?

Too drenched?

Too bad.

Balanced though, means

growing fields, 

breathing forests, 

and golden summers. 

Thomas Hemminger is an elementary music teacher living in Dallas, Texas. His work has been published locally in Dallas, as well as in The Wilda Morris Poetry Challenge, Texas Poetry Assignment, and The Poetry Catalog. His personal hero is Mr. Fred Rogers, the creator of Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. It was through America’s favorite “neighbor” that Thomas learned of the importance of loving others, and of giving them their own space and grace to grow.

Outside / In

Jim LaVilla-Havelin

August 2, 2026

across a dozen years

working writing with 

young people in juvenile detention

there were times

I would go to them

straight from

teaching at the 

Young Women’s Leadership Academy 

the disparity of joy, of opportunity, of hope -

  enough to break 

                  my heart 

and in their words, their stories, their inventions -

           the girls could, listen, play, 

           let language percolate and 

                    blossom -

              they could be 

                   young

behind the wire

words from their whirlwind,

            memories battled for air

                  came up gasping, 

      just old enough

                     to survive 

        the whorl and

                      rattle

Jim LaVilla-Havelin is an educator, editor, community arts activist, and the author of eight poetry books, including 2025's A Thoreau Book and Mesquites Teach Us to Bend. He co-edited the University of Houston Press volume on Rosemary Catacalos, serving as her literary executor.

A creative writing teacher for 50 years, LaVilla-Havelin has taught diverse populations, from juvenile correctional centers to senior programs and high schools. He served as Poetry Editor for the San Antonio Express-News for over a decade and has coordinated San Antonio’s National Poetry Month for 18 years. He received the 2019 San Antonio Distinction in the Arts.