Slim and lightweight with a plain purple cover, Iodine Poetry Journal isn’t much to look at. But it’s the perfect length, and depth, to tote along to Starbucks for a quick poetry fix. The poems vary in accessibility, but none can be called obscure. The editors appreciate the pleasure offered by the short poem—one such poem clocks in at a mere three lines and is not haiku. A few poems with social conscience appear, but more satisfying are the introspective moments, often commanding attention with a single sustained image. Michael Kriesel offers, I believe, the most breathtaking moment of this issue in “Feeding My Heart to the Wind”: “Emptying myself for winter / in a field of stubble / I’m a wind chime / made of bones.” A moment like that is enough to make you forget all about that double latte. Let it go cold, and savor Iodine instead.