April 2020 | poetry
As Much to Speak of Weather
I do not write of my father because he loved me, a truth I have come to believe in for its obviousness—no less obvious that is to say than the way one speaks of rain, its beauty and betrayal. Today’s rain is preemptory, a windless gravitas: what a speaker of political mindset might refer to as bi-partisan, claiming a democracy of garden and glass. How parental! (How paradoxical, both bound and torn asunder!) To speak of my father’s love, then, is as much to speak of weather as if weather is all there is to speak of. My father—who has since taken his words to the grave—has nonetheless left me with rain, another season’s first chill of rain.
Words Frequently Confused: Historicism, Histrionics
If you don’t know the width of the forest when you enter it, how will you know when you’re on the way out? Or do you mean to settle there, to burrow under the dry root of a defeated tree and stay, an abundance of honeybees and berries nearby, a small clear stream? Haven’t you notified the children already, sold every earthly possession, signed up online for Your Majesty’s benefit? Come on, Columbus, isn’t that the way of forests? Aren’t you lost before you know it? Aren’t you penalized half the distance to the goal?
Phillip Sterling
Phillip Sterling’s books include two poetry collections, And Then Snow and Mutual Shores, two collections of short fiction, In Which Brief Stories Are Told and Amateur Husbandry, and four chapbook-length series of poems (Significant Others, Abeyance, Quatrains, and And For All This: Poems from Isle Royale). A fifth series, Short on Days, will be released in 2020.
April 2020 | poetry
Quand j’étais jeune
The leaves sprang bright and
Green from every branch
Sparkling in the spring sun
Et maintenant
The leaves fall red, yellow
And museum blue
From each knotty limb
Quand j’étais jeune
Dashing like a gazelle
Across the trafficked boulevard
Catching the bus as it paused
Et maintenant
Waving a cane of oak
Cursing the huffing diesel
Standing behind and alone
Quand j’étais jeune
The femme avec les yeux
Smiled like an amused cat
Purred and waited
Et maintenant
Like an irritated crow
The femme squawks
And flies away
Quand j’étais jeune
My head was full of dreams
Et maintenant
There is only the menace of silence
Phillip Periman
Phillip Periman was born in 1938 in Memphis, Texas, grew up in Amarillo. He received a BA in history from Yale University and his M.D. from Washington University School of Medicine. He has had poems published by the Black Mountain Press in their anthology, “The Sixty-Four” (Best Poets of 2018) and by Unstamatic. He writes about aging, retirement, his life, and the world as he finds it—always in an attempt to acknowledge the real.
April 2020 | Best of Net nominee, poetry
When I’d walked away
from my beloved house
the new owner called: to say
she’d found a ring
and a feather
stuck into the beam
above the bedroom:
had I forgotten?
She’d saved the ring
but she’d lost the feather
I told her to keep it the ring
part of the house
I had its mate
broken in three pieces
in a little tin box
one broken circle enough
I brought her a new feather
left it in her mailbox
a long brown feather with
a blue tip and white edges
I’d let her decide
the name of the bird
Kelley Jean White
Pediatrician Kelley White has worked in inner city Philadelphia and rural New Hampshire. Her poems have appeared in Exquisite Corpse, Rattle and JAMA. Her recent books are TOXIC ENVIRONMENT (Boston Poet Press) and TWO BIRDS IN FLAME (Beech River Books.) She received a 2008 Pennsylvania Council on the Arts grant.
April 2020 | poetry
Geography is not important.
Everywhere
is the operative word.
Bared soul.
Barefoot.
Bare.
Tread carefully.
Mind your underbelly.
Be a turtle.
Carry the essence
in your hold-all.
No roots allowed
past the security check.
They can see with
their X-ray machines.
You carry
a sharp, merciless
switchblade
made of stainless
grief.
*’Heimweh’ is more than ‘Nostalgia’
Rose Mary Boehm
A German-born UK national, Rose Mary Boehm lives Lima, Peru. Author of one full-length poetry collection and two chapbooks, her work has been widely published in mostly US poetry journals. Her latest full-length poetry MS, ‘The Rain Girl’, has been accepted for publication in June 2020 by Blue Nib. Her poem, ‘Old Love’s Sonnet’, has been nominated for a Pushcart by Shark Reef Journal where it was published in the Summer of 2019.
April 2020 | poetry
What You Find
Todd J. Donery
Todd J. Donery is a Minneapolis based freelance photographer, photo assistant, camera operator, and stage hand. He earned his degree in photography and digital imaging at Minneapolis Community and Technical College. He has also attended Minneapolis College of Art and Design and studied film at Minneapolis Community College. Todd has had solo exhibits of his photography, and has also taken part in group exhibits. He has also had his work published in online journals and print publications. Todd has worked with musical acts to create album cover art, promo photos, event captures, and visuals for live performances. He likes to work with start-up businesses and small businesses photographing their products and personnel to help them build their presence and business. Todd also donates his time and talents to nonprofit organizations and fellow artists who are a tight budget, providing them with headshots, event photos, portfolio images, and original photographs for promotional use. Todd is a founding member of the Homewood Photo Collective. He manages the social media for the group and takes a key role in the production of group exhibits. Todd was also the Vice Chair of the Twin Cities Photography League. There he also manage the social media content, organized meetings with speakers, and played a key role in curating, promotion, and set-up of a group exhibit by the group.
April 2020 | poetry
I notice my parents’ aging as I do my own:
Not at all, then in a photo, all at once.
I blink and seasons, eons have passed.
Now Winter speaks to me, her voice
a groan of boilers straining against cold—
Don’t be sad. Does not the frost remind
of home? Of baking Piroshki with Grandma?
On sluggish mornings such as this, when
the sun sweats to warm the chilly earth,
I wonder what my napping son is dreaming,
what he will ask when he grows old—
Remember that photo of Grandma and Grandpa?
They are smiling and, though it’s getting dark, I smile back.
What was it you wrote about America and hope?
(So much happens when we’re asleep;
One morning I awoke to an altered Earth.)
You’ve begun to stir. I hear your happy babbling.
This darkness is heavy; I won’t let it crush you too.
Andy Posner
Andy Posner grew up in Los Angeles and earned an MA in Environmental Studies at Brown. While there, he founded Capital Good Fund, a nonprofit that provides financial services to low-income families. When not working, he enjoys reading, writing, watching documentaries, and ranting about the state of the world. He has had his poetry published in several journals, including Burningword Literary Journal (which nominated his poem ‘The Machinery of the State’ for the Pushcart Poetry Prize), Noble/Gas Quarterly, and The Esthetic Apostle.
