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Poetry Summer 2021    fiction    all issues

Cover of Poetry Summer 2021


Diana Akhmetianova

Monique Jonath
& other poems

Alix Christofides Lowenthal
Before and After
& other poems

Rebbekah Vega-Romero
La Persona Que Quiero Ser
& other poems

Oak Morse
Incandescent Light That Peeks Through Secrets
& other poems

George Kramer
The Last Aspen Stand
& other poems

Elizabeth Sutterlin
Meditations on Mars
& other poems

Holly Marie Roland
& other poems

Devon Bohm
A Bouquet of Cherry Blossoms
& other poems

Ana Reisens
In praise of an everyday object
& other poems

Maxi Wardcantori
The Understory
& other poems

William A. Greenfield
& other poems

Karen L Kilcup
The Sky Is Just About to Fall
& other poems

Pamela Wax
He dreams of birds
& other poems

Mary Jane Panke
& other poems

a mykl herdklotz
Mouettes et Mastodontes
& other poems

Claudia Maurino
Good Pilgrim
& other poems

Mary Pacifico Curtis
One Mystical Day
& other poems

Tess Cooper
Airport Poem
& other poems

Peter Kent
Congress of Ravens
& other poems

Kimberly Sailor
White Women Running
& other poems

Bill Cushing
Creating a Corpse
& other poems

Everett Roberts
& other poems

Susan Marie Powers
Canada Geese
& other poems

Pamela Wax

He dreams of birds

                                  that resemble you.

He resembles you. He is not a bird,

though when he jumps to dunk a ball,

he is suspended, like you dancing, a Chagall,

everything floating, houses and cows.

You visit when he sleeps. You are crow,

bluebird, cardinal, canary—you choose

the color, and he supplies the plumage,

shows me a single feather

left on his pillow in the morning,

lets me stroke it against my cheek.

Nuit et brouillard, Resnais, 1956

I was only ten when I first saw Night

and Fog, incriminated by all that nakedness—

jumbled bodies littered in camps,

ribs poking through threadbare flesh. 

At twelve, at sleepaway camp,

I dressed under cover of night 

or in the bathroom to not expose my nakedness,

too hairy, too guilty-fleshy,

or later, too timid to divulge

the nighttime stirrings that encamped

in my kindling flesh—

to be wholly naked

even to my budding sense of self. Flesh

now saggy, scarred, a mind guilt-full

of qualms, but bold as night

as I approach my sixties, I’m willfully naked

to the world. I prance without a stitch

before open windows at night,

backlit, when my guilt takes a form

other than flesh. I mix it with naked rage

because never again is pitched capriciously

in the ominous night tent of the world,

where I bite almost guiltless on sunny days

into the waiting flesh of a peach.

A rabbi and poet, Pamela Wax’s essays on Judaism, spirituality, and women’s issues have been published broadly, and her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Pensive Journal, Heron Tree, Green Ink Poetry, Sheila-Na-Gig, Pedestal Magazine, Pangyrus, Dewdrop, Naugatuck River Review, and Paterson Literary Review. Pam’s first volume of poetry, Walking the Labyrinth, is forthcoming from Main Street Rag in 2022. She lives in the Bronx, NY and the Northern Berkshires of Massachusetts.

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