Jeffrey

October 2021 | fiction

Not earbuds but headphones so big the phones cut out any unwanted sound. That was the way Jeffrey wanted it. He wanted to stay in his inner world with his music and his basketball. He had no need to nod or say hello or anything to the vague inhabitants of the gym, people he saw everyday but didn’t see, didn’t want to see, particularly women who seemed to be drawn to him for some unknown reason.  God knows he wasn’t particularly attractive, gray hair, kinda short but decent muscles from years at the gym. Maybe it was his indifference that attracted them. Ever since Covid he wore a mask even when he didn’t need to like when he was working out hard on the rowing machine, building a sweat. He liked the mask, extra protection against anyone who tried to enter his space.

He used to be friendly. “Hi,” he’d say to the guys shooting baskets. (When he was a kid, he dreamed of being a professional). “What’s up?”

They’d shake hands maybe or bump knuckles and tell stories about how many baskets they used to make or which team they were sure would win the championship. It was nice the way it used to be, warm, the sun blasting through the gym window on summer days, so you were grateful for air conditioning, you were happy to be alive.

Alive was what it was all about. And Olivia was hardly that anymore, her slow decline, the headaches, the weakness, the insomnia until they diagnosed Covid. Olivia protested, “I wore a mask, I washed my hands, avoided crowds…” She was certain she’d never be infected, that they’d never be infected, but she was.

“How’s your wife?” George asked the other day. George was a trainer but out of work since the pandemic hit and the gym closed for several months. Now he was hoping to get back at it like so many others.

“How’s your wife?” Carl asked yesterday climbing the stair stepper.

“How’s your wife?” Don inquired adjusting the weights on the arm extension.

“How’s your wife?” “Your wife?”  “Your wife?”

Jeffrey wished he could answer. Wished he could say she was better, she was fine, they were leaving on vacation next week, flying to Paris, or Hawaii or Madrid…

Instead, he turned up the volume on his headphones and pressed them closer to his ears.

 

Elaine Barnard

Elaine Barnard’s collection of stories, The Emperor of Nuts: Intersections Across Cultures was published by New Meridian Arts and noted as a unique book on the Snowflakes in a Blizzard website. She won first place in Strands international flash fiction competition and was featured on their webinar. Her work has been included in numerous literary journals. She has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best Small Fiction. She was a finalist for Best of the Net. She received her MFA from the University of California, Irvine, and her BA from the University of Washington, Seattle.

Coming home: carnival

October 2021 | poetry

Love makes the wheels go round— as in, your heart is a vehicle

conveyed through small towns, worn-out suitcase you drag, only

stopping at the fair for pickled eggs, magenta jar of luck & hope.

Those tiny bobbing heads, kraken, sailors tell themselves at night.

 

Here, the Ferris wheel is broken down and all the lights look dim,

forsaken while you wander round the same dirt path. The clam

booth steams just like the sea— though you’re in Pennsylvania.

The pie ladies are smiling from their perch which smells like pine.

 

It’s been redone, still lemon, apple, rhubarb, they preach & hum.

Renounce, renounce & have a slice. Because the night, because

you’re home & you’re redeemed. Beside the swings, you halt.

See someone you used to know; he is old, does not see you.

 

That chartreuse light of August glowed just beyond the ballfield

when you first came. Now the hawkers at the candy apple stand

put on their lights & all the games draw in the younger crowd.

You pitch dimes in old thin jars, try to win back the family name.

 

Then the Ferris wheel begins to turn and soon the fireworks will

parachute chrysanthemums into the dark. One year when you

were young, you were stuck at the top with a boy you liked.

Kids waved thin sparklers on the hill like dots of fireflies.

 

Hello, hello, you want to shout. Remember me? But no one

yells.  And no one comes to sit near you. The carnival man

jerks his finger. You are next. He clamps you down in metal.

You ride in huge moist circles, your heart lurching at the top.

 

Ellen Stone

Ellen Stone advises a poetry club at Community High School and co-hosts a monthly poetry series, Skazat! in Ann Arbor, Michigan where she raised three daughters with her husband.  She is the author of What Is in the Blood (Mayapple Press, 2020) and The Solid Living World (Michigan Writers’ Cooperative Press, 2013).  Ellen’s poetry has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net.  Reach Ellen at ellenstone.org.

Reception Immediately Following

October 2021 | poetry

Come in come in I’m so glad

you could come how good

to see you I’m fine thanks just fine

lunch is laid out in the dining room

 

let’s open the wine

 

so we can enjoy ourselves

take your plate into the garden

the lilies she planted last fall

have just come into bloom

 

yes lovely

 

do take a second helping

I gave the caterers her special recipe

have another glass of wine

the music was beautiful

 

wasn’t it

 

she helped plan everything

that was our niece who sang

marvellous voice I’m fine

 

really fine everything

just like she’d wanted

wonderful

to see you let’s have a hug

 

do stay a bit

we’ll all go out to dinner

there’s a great place

we used to

 

thanks so much

for coming, goodbye yes

it went well

so nice

 

you could come

get together soon

you’re the last

wish

you could stay

I’ll walk you to your car

fine

 

love you

fine

give us a kiss

 

until                 fine

later of course

I’m fine

thanks

just fine

 

Ruth Bavetta

Ruth Bavetta’s poems have appeared in Rattle, Nimrod, North American Review, Tar River Poetry, Slant, American Journal of Poetry, and many other journals and anthologies. Her fifth book will be published in 2022. She has been an Associate Editor for Good Works Review and has been nominated for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize.

Jim Ross

July 2021 | visual art

Never Apart

 

Jim Ross

Jim Ross jumped into creative pursuits in 2015 after a rewarding career in public health research. With a graduate degree from Howard University, in six years he’s published nonfiction, poetry, and photography in over 150 journals and anthologies on four continents. Publications include 580 Split, Bombay Gin, Burningword, Columbia Journal, Hippocampus, Ilanot Review, Lunch Ticket, The Atlantic, The Manchester Review, and Typehouse. Recent photo essays include Barren, Kestrel, Litro, New World Writing, So It Goes, and Wordpeace. A nonfiction piece led to a role in a documentary limited series. Jim and his wife—parents of two health professionals on the front line and grandparents of five preschoolers—split their time between city and mountains.

Jean Wolff

July 2021 | visual art

BluePenwithYellowDwg3

 

Jean Wolff

Jean Wolff has had group and solo exhibits in various galleries in New York City and internationally. In addition, she has published 111 works in 77 issues of 52 different magazines. Born in Detroit, Michigan, she studied fine arts at the Center for Creative Studies in Detroit and at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor, receiving a BFA in studio arts. She then attended Hunter College, CUNY in New York, graduating with an MFA in painting and printmaking. She is now part of the artistic community of Westbeth in Manhattan.