Top 25 Most Read ONE ART Publications of 2021

#1

On The Day After You Left This World

by Heather Swan

#2

Three Poems

by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

#3

Revision Lesson

by Erin Murphy

#4

Five Poems

by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

#5

At The Nursing Home

by Gary Metras

#6

Two Poems

by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

#7

Two Poems

by Donna Hilbert

#8

There should always be pie in a poem,

by Lailah Shima

#9

Two Poems

by J.C. Todd

#10

Self-Care

by James Crews

#11

February, 2021

by Donna Hilbert

#12

Three Poems

by Heidi Seaborn

#13

5 untitled poems [from] The Survivor

by Jenn Koiter

#14

Chiaroscuro

by Nathaniel Gutman

#15

The Doctrine of the Kite

by Melody Wilson

#16

Two Poems

by Donna Hilbert

#17

Two Poems

by William Logan

#18

Three Poems

by Aaron Smith

#19

Two Poems

by Betsy Mars

#20

December Again

by Ona Gritz

#21

Two Poems

by Betsy Mars

#22

Cycles

by Carolyn Martin

#23

What to do with your grief

by Patricia Davis-Muffett

#24

Hide-and-Seek

by Erin Murphy

#25

Two Poems

by Joseph Chelius

Two Poems by Joseph Chelius

The Franklin Institute

All the wonders of science and invention
stood before us in the distance: if only
we could decode the pattern of the Parkway lights—
our grandmother in her green coat and hat,
the scent of Jean Nate,
leading the three of us with our blond crew cuts
on the day’s expedition: the trolley ride
into town; soft pretzels from a vendor.
And then, as amused Ben Franklin looked on,
peering through his tiny spectacles,
our stepping into the crosswalk—
the talk so many years later
not of the Planetarium, nor even the Giant Heart,
but our awe of tall buildings, the bewildering
phenomenon of commerce and traffic;
our linking hands as if entering
a panorama—sun glinting off metal and chrome.

*

Stopping Between Errands to Watch Little League Baseball

Forget the hardware store,
the broken clapper
on the running toilet.
And the wilting asparagus,
the half-gallon of mint chocolate
sweating it out
in the sauna of the trunk.
Unlike my fellow spectators in the stands,
I have nothing invested here:
no regard for the score
or, as I’d had years before,
no son to cheer as he stands at bat
or maintains his poise on the pitcher’s mound.
But like some roving ambassador,
a retired neighbor filling his days,
I have taken these moments
to play anonymous fan
for both the reds and the yellows
as they compete on the field.
To feel the sun on my arms,
on the back of my neck,
to be a man interrupted—
kindly, avuncular,
without a list or an agenda,
who if only just briefly
on a Saturday afternoon
can put out of mind
the unpacking of groceries
and querulous fixtures.
Can resist even the call
of the pent-up mower—
shrill and exacting,
that disciplines grass.

*

Joseph Chelius works as a principal editor for a health care communications company. His poetry has appeared in journals and magazines such as Commonweal, Poetry East, Poet Lore, Rattle, Schuylkill Valley Journal, and THINK. He has published two full-length collections with WordTech editions in Cincinnati: The Art of Acquiescence (2014) and Crossing State Lines (2020).