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Poetry Summer 2018    fiction    all issues

Poetry Cover Summer 2018


Cover Michael Lønfeldt

Carol Lischau
& other poems

Noreen Ellis
Jesus Measured
& other poems

Amanda Moore
Learning to Surf
& other poems

Adin Zeviel Leavitt
& other poems

Jim Pascual Agustin
Stay a Minute, the Light is Beautiful
& other poems

Timothy Walsh
The Wellfleet Oyster
& other poems

Anna Hernandez-French
Watermelon Love
& other poems

J. L. Grothe
Six Pregnancies
& other poems

Sue Fagalde Lick
Beauty Confesses
& other poems

Abby Johnson
Finding Yourself on Google Maps
& other poems

Marisa Silva-Dunbar
& other poems

Merre Larkin
Sensing June
& other poems

Savannah Grant
& other poems

Andrew Kuhn
Plains Weather
& other poems

Catherine Wald
Against Aubade
& other poems

Joe Couillard
Like New Houses Settling
& other poems

Faleeha Hassan
In Nights of War
& other poems

Olivia Dorsey Peacock
Thelma: ii
& other poems

Sarah Louise
& other poems

Kimberly Russo
Inherent Injustice
& other poems

Frannie Deckas
Child for Sale
& other poems

Jacqueline Schaalje
& other poems

Nancy Rakoczy
Her Face
& other poems

Ashton Vaughn
& other poems

Writer's Site

Amanda Moore

Tattoo Artist

When the young girl wants my input

On the design of her tattoo

The bells of my brain don’t know

Which alarm to sound first

I am her teacher her father

Is my friend she babysits my daughter

Her mother is days away from dying I think

Perhaps I should dissuade her though

Part of me thinks to cheer I want

To know the right advice to give but what

Does it matter she’s already marked

And the dull buzz of the tattoo gun

Will be in her ears always the needle

Piercing her flesh will be nothing

Like the pain that traces itself each day

Through her heart

What is ankle bone shoulder blade

Hip skin over the kidney why not

Wear pain permanently

An heirloom brooch handed down

I would turn up her sleeve myself

If I could I would dip into each colored well

And puncture her skin again again

With what very little I know of loss

The Dead Thing

Everywhere the smell of death—not a figurative

sense of doom pervading every thought,

but real—in every room

putrid rot: something has died in our duct work

and there is no place the stench doesn’t find us.

O effluvium of rat corpse, odor of mouse

droppings, funk from deceased bid. O miasma

of ancient raccoon jammed between joist

and cold aluminum, fetor of possum or mole

or maybe the neighbor’s lost cat. Niff of decomposing

squirrel; whiff of skunk. The stink corrals us

in a single room we seal with plastic sheeting,

infuse with incense, windows open to morning mist

and autumn chill. For the first time

since our girl was a baby, the three of us bed down

and nest together, the creaks and midnight stirrings of one

nudging us all in and out of uncomfortable

sleep, perfume of night sweat mingling,

bouquet of hot breath fogging the vanity mirror.

Like a new litter we weave together until we wake,

cranky and confined and knit tight against the invading scent.

Oh, nothing lasts—good or bad. So, come time:

come you house flies and scavengers, you insects, mites,

beetles, larva, maggots, worms: do your work.

Learning to Surf

OK, ocean:

            I have forsaken

                        the glittering blue eye of lake

to play at the lip of your vast, frothy mouth.

I have memorized your comings

                        and goings, the tide charts, and the swell; I have

taken you into me by the gallon, let you

                        pin me beneath your strong arms,

            and I have been grateful

                        for the seals beside me, infinity

                                                in the distance, promise

                        of pleasure. I have tried

to walk lightly over sand crabs and muck.

            I have learned not to turn away.

Let me stand on your shoulders,

                                    drop into you and carve

                        my own hard line. I have been patient.

Show me what to do

with my failure.

after Maureen McLane

Amanda Moore’s poetry has appeared in journals and anthologies including ZZYZVA, Cream City Review, Tahoma Literary Review, Best New Poets, and Mamas and Papas: On the Sublime and Heartbreaking Art of Parenting, and she is the recipient of writing awards from The Writing Salon, Brush Creek Arts Foundation, and The Saltonstall Foundation for the Arts. She received her MFA in poetry from Cornell University, where she served as Managing Editor for EPOCH magazine. Amanda lives with her husband and daughter near the beach in San Francisco, where she is a high school teacher.

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