Poetry Winter 2021 fiction all issues
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Cover
Andrej Lišakov
Laura Apol
I Take a Realtor through the House
& other poems
Rebekah Wolman
How I Want my Body Taken
& other poems
Devon Bohm
The Word
& other poems
Gillian Freebody
The Right Kind of Woman
& other poems
Anne Marie Wells
Gravestone Flowers
& other poems
Laura Turnbull
Restoration
& other poems
Andre F. Peltier
A Fistful of Ennui
& other poems
Peter Kent
Reflections on the Late Nuclear Attack on Boston
& other poems
Carol Barrett
Canal Poem #8: Hides
& other poems
Alix Lowenthal
Abortion Clinic Waiting Room
& other poems
Latrise P. Johnson
From My Women
& other poems
Brenna Robinson
repurposed
& other poems
may panaguiton
MOON KILLER
& other poems
Elizabeth Farwell
The Life That Scattered
& other poems
Bill Cushing
Two Stairways
& other poems
Richard Baldo
A Note to Prepare You
& other poems
Blake Foster
Aubade from the Coast
& other poems
Bernard Horn
Glamour
& other poems
Harald Edwin Pfeffer
Still stiff with morning cold
& other poems
Nia Feren
Neon Orange Tree Trunks
& other poems
Everett Roberts
A Mourning Performance
& other poems
Alaina Goodrich
The Way I Wander
& other poems
Olivia Dorsey Peacock
the iron maiden and other adornments
& other poems
Bill Cushing
Three Acts of Oedipus Rex
in Cinquains
After
answering the
Sphynx’s riddle, the young
Oedipus swears he will escape
his fate.
Hubris
overtakes him
as he commits the first
case of road rage on the journey
to Thebes.
Zealous,
his search to learn
the truth reveals that he
killed the king who was also his
father.
Pelicans
Slowly circling,
the pelican
drops like a stone
into water.
Then climbing the
air, he stops, and
with a single
motion of wings,
glides on the wind.
Playing Ball in the Hereafter
As children, Henry Aaron and Don Sutton
grew up in towns three hours apart
and learned the game between fields of cotton;
then the hitter moved east, the pitcher, west
as they took paths to opposite coasts.
Two All-Stars, they became among the best.
Upon dying, Sutton arrived first and may
have used the time to loosen his arm
while warming up on the clay
waiting for Hammering Hank’s arrival.
As they play, now in eternal prime,
Celestial fans admire erstwhile rivals
and wonder, from where they sit,
what is the most wondrous display:
the sweet pitch or power-driven hit?
Two Stairways
The first greets those who promenade
through the foyer to a sunken
living room; its steps—wide with
carpeted tread—ease beneath gilded panels
lined with portraits of staid patriarchs
long dead. Bright red lips brush fair cheeks,
besitos de cultura alto,
as these elegant guests parade
through the living room past a massive
dining table and walls affixed
with innocuous ceramic buttons,
doorbell fixtures to summon the help
from the kitchen hiding a second staircase:
steep, jagged, and above all concrete.
Servants—rough hands wrapped in skin darker
than the mahogany furniture
they rub to a high shine—trudge between floors
carrying the weight of meals, loads of laundry,
flutes of lemon water, and whispered curses,
triggered by constant buzzing commands.
Meanwhile, quiet worms of hate burrow, deep
yet imperceptible, into their hearts.
Bill Cushing
lived in several states and the Caribbean before moving to California after earning an MFA from Goddard College. A retired college instructor, he lives in Glendale with his wife and their son. Nominated for two Pushcart prizes, Bill has two award-winning poetry collections, A Former Life (Kops-Featherling International Book Award) and Music Speaks (New York City Book Award). His new poetry chapbook, . . .this just in. . ., became available July 2021.