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Poetry Summer 2022    fiction    all issues

Cover of Poetry Summer 2022


Joanne Monte
& other poems

Holly York
Still When I Reach for the Leash
& other poems

Anne Marie Wells
Catholicism Still Lingers in a Concrete Poem
& other poems

D.T. Christensen
Coded Language
& other poems

Laura Faith
& other poems

Abigail F. Taylor
Winter in Choctaw
& other poems

Natalie LaFrance-Slack
& other poems

Nicole Sellino
iii. moving, an interruption
& other poems

Gilaine Fiezmont
In Memoriam / Day of the Dead
& other poems

Sheri Flowers Anderson
On Being A Widow
& other poems

RJ Gryder
& other poems

William S. Barnes
to hatch
& other poems

Suzannah Van Gelder
& other poems

Sam Bible-Sullivan
The Dying Worker’s Soliloquy
& other poems

Hills Snyder
Eclipse (July 4, 2020)
& other poems

Lauren Fulton
Birth Marks
& other poems

David Sloan
& other poems

Nancy Kangas
Dry Dock Cranes of Brooklyn Navy Yard
& other poems

Noreen Graf
In Attendance
& other poems

Jim Bohen
Nothing Tea
& other poems

Thomas Baranski
Let us name him dread and look forward
& other poems

Nicole Sellino

i. Painting

Painting is not always a product

of expensive paint and temperate bristles

and talent and expertise

sometimes, it comes from the gravity

the weight of the paint on the brush propelling it forward

the wind that comes at the precise moment you need it to

the accidental flick of the wrist

the unannounced water droplet

the pigment of imagination 

painting is not always a product

sometimes it is a circumstance 

ii. Baltimore 

These cobble stones tell secrets

if you listen very carefully 

they rumble at you about the horses that 

galloped on their surface

the brick stones tell stories

late at night when no one is listening

they remind you of long ago fires

and misshapen nails being hammered in

the water is here

the same water that Frederick Douglass worked along

the same water that houses male ducks and their mistresses, souls, sailboats, and the wheel

the same water that welcomed ships home in 1853

The Domino Sugar factory’s sweetness

that is indeed plumes of white smoke

lies as a beacon of a lighthouse

And endless twinkle lights in the dark blue night

swinging this way and that from one window pane to another 

across the narrow streets, swooping like a lady’s fine pearls 

illuminating the stoops, the rats, the little free public libraries 

the ancient pathway of Edgar Allan Poe shining in their brightness 

Baltimore is crabs, craft beer and baseball games

Baltimore is quiet and loud and new and monotonous all at once

A good monotonous, the kind that is your daily routine

The monotony you don’t want to end fueled by articulated lattes 

Baltimore is Orange and Purple doors

and sirens, fresh air and ice cream

it is small, yellow, wooden salt boxes on every corner

Baltimore is a charm that belongs on every bracelet

a giant city rolled into one neighborhood 

etched in every memory

of our collective unconscious 

it will tell you stories

if you listen to it 

iii. moving, an interruption

is it the physical location 

or the transitory period that’s the hardest?

a house looks different 

based on who isn’t in it anymore

an empty counter sans coffee pot, a quiet TV, a missing laugh 

where are my tweezers?

it’s funny how it’s not about the gifts at Christmas

give me a banana wrapped in shiny paper, i told my mom

it doesn’t matter what’s inside anymore 

just being together is enough

my stuff is packed in boxes

did i pack my toothbrush?

when there’s a different vantage point

you learn to be resourceful 

you really only need one plate and one set of silverware to get by 

you learn to tough out the tough times

surrounded by cardboard boxes and packing tape 

where are the house keys?

and with those times, your hands get rough and your lips get chapped

and the bags under your eyes carry all of your emotions and belongings that your suitcase can’t fit

was selling the blender supposed to feel like selling your soul?

it’s just a blender, i told myself

a blender

but it wasn’t just a blender

it wasn’t just a set of margarita glasses

it was not simply a forgotten lamp

and it was never just a set of French bulldog salt and pepper shakers

these items did things

they held things

they supported things 

they were things

you know?

Nicole Sellino, a current resident of Jersey City, NJ, credits Long Island, Baltimore, and the Pocono mountains for her gravitation towards nature, animals, and all things fresh air. When she’s not painting, writing poetry in the margins of any flat surface, and admiring her rock collection, she can be found eating key lime pie and enjoying the sunsets—even the gray cloudy ones.

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