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Poetry Winter 2017    fiction    all issues

Cover of Poetry Winter 2017 issue


Cover Thought-Forms

Laura Apol
On My Fiftieth Birthday I Return
& other poems

Jihyun Yun
& other poems

Jamie Ross
Red Jetta
& other poems

Sarah Blanchard
Carolina Clay
& other poems

lauren a. boisvert
Save a Seat for Me in the Void
& other poems

Faith Shearin
A Pirate at Midlife
& other poems

Helen Yeoman-Shaw
Calling Long Distance
& other poems

Sarah B. Sullivan
& other poems

Timothy Walsh
Metro Messenger
& other poems

Gabriel Spera
& other poems

Zoë Harrison
Pattee Creek
& other poems

AJ Powell
& other poems

Alexa Poteet
The Man Who Got off the Train Between Madrid and Valencia
& other poems

Marcie McGuire
Still Birth
& other poems

Kim Drew Wright
Elephants Standing
& other poems

Michael Jenkins
The Garden Next Door
& other poems

Nicky Nicholson-Klingerman
& other poems

Doni Faber
Man Moth
& other poems

M. Underwood
In Other Words
& other poems

Carson Pynes
Diet Coke
& other poems

Bucky Ignatius
Something Old, . . .
& other poems

Violet Mitchell
Deleting Emails the Week After Kevin Died
& other poems

Sam Collier
Nocturne in an Empty Sea
& other poems

Meryl Natchez
Equivocal Activist
& other poems

William Godbey
A Corn Field in Los Angeles
& other poems

Don Hogle
Austin Wallson Confesses
& other poems

Bucky Ignatius

Rear View

Dandridge Drive-Thru Beverage

is gone, love child of a general

store and covered bridge,

choked by convenience

chains, economy of scale:

gone, soon forgotten.

No more crony clubhouse

for jokers and smokers

to pass hot nights staring

into the slow parade,

grading the trade, hoping

to catch some thigh.

A species born endangered,

vanishing breed thinner

by one. Its skeleton stands

time-worn, forlorn, most

of the parts still good

for something—maybe

a museum on the outskirts

of town, oil drum around

back for pitched empties

and spit, neon sign starting

to stutter, hot rod dreams

up on blocks somewhere.

Sonnet with Reptiles

Before the Chianti

is opened, before

the pesto is ground,

I’m already high

on basil oiled fingers,

gush of tomato

juice on my chin,

dazzled by darting

Lazarus lizards,

captured and brought

to Ohio from Italy,

who rule the rocks

in my garden, their own

Mediterranean dream.

Hide and Seek

My kitchen is a clutter of purloined

letters hiding in plain sight. Odd

shaped things—Cuisinart blade,

French press plunger—come to mind,

but not to hand without a search.

Eyes methodically scan the surfaces:

counter, three sinks, two tables,

the dishrack. Repeat. Add the floor,

look behind and under, more slowly,

with a curse this time. That vegetable

knife is too large, too brown to hide

in familiar stacks and scatters of glass

and silver where every meal starts

with a prayer to Saint Anthony.

“Something Old, . . .”

A gentle joke mingled

at my second wedding,

“They’re registered at Seven Hills Resale.”

True enough, things I like best

have often been discarded

in the common market.

Home-made, well worn

things, not wallflowers,

participants in the fray.

Companions for hand and eye,

things someone might find

worth trying to mend.

End of September

for Carl Sagan

waning fire down

to quivering lumps

of light, furnace

orange and charcoal

one triangle tongue

of flame in the corner

of the bed flickers out

comfort, warmth, wisps

of smoke, brush of hair

from the crown

of a lover’s head

these things and more,

everything emanating

from ashes of dead stars

Bucky Ignatius is a semi-reformed hippie who has spent most of his 70-plus years in or near Cincinnati, where he now tends a large eccentric garden and a small comically curious cat. A chapbook of fifty short poems, Fifty Under Fifty was published by Finishing Line Press in 2015. For meager wages and inspiration, he operates a century-old elevator in a former factory that now houses more than a hundred working artists.

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