I am remembering a young woman I met who pulled out her phone
to share a photograph of a mother she missed while at college, smiled wide and scrolled down her contacts
pointing to the name – My Everything. That’s my mother’s number, she said. That was a month ago.
I’ve been back from Rwanda, doing laundry in a machine instead of the bucket,
have baked tofu with fresh ginger, lemon grass, and soy sauce not thinking of the beans and rice.
And I have been renaming my contacts, new names for everyone – My Rock, He Whose Hair Smells Like Sun,
Bluest Eyes, Get Ready For An Hour-Long Conversation, Let Go To Voice Mail, She Who Makes Me Laugh, Will Have Gossip, Best Thai Food…
feeling like I am on scattered pathways from a garden, seeded in wild things.
Sarah Dickenson Snyder has written poetry since she knew there was a form with conscious line breaks. She has two poetry collections, The Human Contract and Notes from a Nomad, both published in 2017. She was selected for the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference both times she applied. One poem was nominated for best of Net in 2017. Recent work appears in Chautauqua Literary Magazine, RHINO, and The Sewanee Review. https://sarahdickensonsnyder.com/
When I look at my father, I see a flower, I see a barbarian who lived in Guam, and ate McDonald’s for 90 days to file for divorce. When I look at my father, I see a flower wearing a straw hat, short shorts and long socks, t-shirt tucked, stretched over his paunch, I see a bottle of wine with a hamburger for breakfast before going back to bed. I see red meat and liver-spotted hands.
When I look at my mother, I see the moon, I see a beast who watches Call the Midwife in her nightgown, indulging herself and 16-year-old son with a weight problem to Custards after a day in the office listening to sex addicts and divorcées before getting served on September 11th by what she thought had been a roofer with a bid. When I look at my mother, I see the moon, haggard and luminous.
Cameron Morse lives with his wife Lili and son Theodore in Blue Springs, Missouri. He was diagnosed with a glioblastoma in 2014. With a 14.6 month life expectancy, he entered the Creative Writing program at the University of Missouri—Kansas City and, in 2018, graduated with an M.F.A. His poems have been published in over 100 different magazines, including New Letters, Bridge Eight, and South Dakota Review. His first collection, Fall Risk, won Glass Lyre Press’s 2018 Best Book Award. His second, Father Me Again, is available from Spartan Press.
I traced the GCSE Art-student impression of your cheekbones, pencilled in peach; a soft graphite rendering. Your irises were sectioned by baby ingots. Your jaw was the edge.
I’d deserted a Chemistry lesson to come to your sterile door: you were so satisfying, although you wore a home-knitted jumper in teddy-bear brown.
Through bitten lips, I sucked my Sherbet Fountain. Wondered if your wife – blanched and underfed, with a heart of Cotswold stone, no doubt – tasted 50mg of sertraline when you kissed her.
Olivia Tuck has had poems and prose published in literary journals and webzines including The Interpreter’s House, Lighthouse, Amaryllis and Three Drops from a Cauldron. Her work also features in the Fly on the Wall charity anthologies Please Hear What I’m Not Saying and Persona Non Grata. She is studying for a BA in Creative Writing at Bath Spa University, and her pamphlet Things Only Borderlines Know is forthcoming with Black Rabbit Press. Find her on Twitter: @livtuckwrites
A red balloon sailing through patchwork skies whisked my brother’s young feet from the fairground. Day bled to twilight before a cop found him mangled in a ditch by the highway.
After the funeral, my Dutch au pair led me down to our basement and laughed when I told her I’d never played baseball. Later we snuck my father’s rifle out to the train yards, and she showed me how creamy breasts of pigeons turn crimson, and
how nothing seems more alive than in that moment before it isn’t.
Ryan Stone writes after midnight. His short fiction and poetry have appeared in publications including Algebra of Owls, Eunoia Review, The Drabble and Silver Birch Press and won prizes in a number of competitions at venues including Grindstone, Writer Advice, Goodreads, Writers’ Forum Magazine and Poetry Nook. He lives in Melbourne, Australia.
After an extended Christmas break, we are back a little later than expected, and the poems we have slated to publish in January will likely spill over into February now.
The most recent submission window closed on 15th January and we are starting the selection process – people can expect responses at the end of this month. The new window opened on 16th January and will run to the end of February – for poems to publish in April.
To get things rolling again, here is our usual bi-monthly poll for a Readers’ Choice poem. In November and December there were four poems that stood out in terms of reader response, and here they are. Voting will close on 26th January when our mug-winner will be announced.
Brandy breath engulfs her face as he prises the soda can from her fingers –
wraps them round a glass: raspberry gin – it’s sweet, like fruit gums.
She watches the open bottle tilt in his hand. Acid slides to the back of her tongue.
Jinny Fisher is a member of Wells Fountain Poets. Magazines include The Interpreter’s House, Under the Radar, Tears in the Fence, Prole,Strange Poetry, and Ink, Sweat & Tears. Commended and placed in national competitions, she is committed to pushing her outreach ‘Poetry Pram’ around festivals for random readings:https://www.facebook.com/PoetryPram/