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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

Catherine Wald

Against Aubade

Tonight ensconced in your firm fragrant arms,

As tender as new bride and blushing groom,

Tight swaddled, warm, as in the rounded womb,

Let’s hold each other close and bless our stars.

Protected from dark morning’s dawning gloom

And day’s insistent, breast-beating demands,

We think, not with our brains, but with our hands—

Two shuttles, back and forth, across a loom.

Redeemed, replete, released from tales and lies,

Misunderstandings, quarrels and remorse,

Inevitable failures of discourse,

In silence finally our tongues grow wise.

Bedazzled by kind nighttime’s sweet deceits

We dread the dawn’s unraveling defeat.

Birthday Lunch

What I wanted to say was, you’re still the most beautiful

woman in the world. It’s kind of nice to see you.

I’ve been dreading this all week.

What I wanted to say was, I refuse to dredge any more

lakes for your dead bodies. I don’t have the credentials to

absolve you. If it’s my birthday, how come you get all the goodies?

What I wanted to say was, I love the way you laugh at my jokes.

There is so much about me you’ll never know.

Why do you have to be the gift that keeps on taking?

It kills me that I still love you—another thing I didn’t mention.

What I wanted to say was, you birthed me, but I created myself.

What I wanted to say will always stand

between us.

Death and the Rainbow

We began our flight with

gaily colored globules—

all the bubble gum a

five-year-old could



We touched down in a kind of

Oz where oranges grew on

trees instead of in plastic

netted bags from the


Fairy-tale Florida!

Sun shone, palms shimmered,

clean-smelling aqua

splash pools punctuated

every lawn. Houses

wore tropical shades that

made my mother’s red

lipstick look almost


I do recall an ambulance.

I saw men carry my grandpa

away on a stretcher.

He was sick, which is much

easier to understand

than dead.

But what I remember best was

the rainbow, my first. When my

mother parted the curtains, pointed

at what until that moment had

been myth, I knew something

important had happened.

Journal Entry

She keeps her old journals

in her old bedroom

in plain view.

How I envy her!

She assumes

as I once assumed

a daughter’s trust

isn’t temporal

like anesthesia.

Her heart’s chambers

haven’t been slit or

scrutinized by

maternal surgeons.

Structurally sound

she stands firm


I love to see,

I love to watch,

the light flash in

her eyes.

Catherine Wald is an author, journalist, translator and teacher based in Manhattan. Her chapbook, Distant, burned-out stars, was published in 2011 (Finishing Line). Poems appeared in American Journal of Nursing, Deronda Review, Gravel, Minerva Rising, J Journal, The Lyric, The New York Times, Quarterday Review, Westchester Review and others.

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