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Poetry Winter 2021    fiction    all issues


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
& 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
& other poems

may panaguiton
& 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
& 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

Writer's Site

Richard Baldo

A Note to Prepare You

Be nice to me even though you know

I will leave you on an unscheduled flight.

Make our bed warm for me when I can’t shed the chill in my bones.

I will leave you and melt through the sheets to drip into the earth by morning.

Murmur to me, just a whisper to remember those times I was a good man.

I will leave you before the falling star strikes the earth.

Stroke the side of my right cheek with your wrinkled fingers;

I will leave you alone in the soon cold sheets we still share.

Say you remember when I brought alive that wet passion within you;

I will leave you a map to your pleasure etched with the pain of gentle endings.

Say the sun still shines through the French doors of our life.

I will leave you the echo of my footsteps climbing to our bedroom.

I will leave you a legacy of faded shirts to fly as kites

And signal your remembrance of my arm across your shoulder.

As I leave my life, I leave you the rest of your life without me.

The Position

Assumed when we start the night,

my left elbow rests on her left hip,

the curve of her bottom presses into my stomach.

My left arm curves around her torso to cup her right breast.

Her right nipple rests in the relaxed space

between the thumb and forefinger of my warm left hand.

In the night we break apart,

mitosis that allows for reunification.

When we awake, we listen to the rhythm of breaths

to read our mutual state and retake our position.

She likes her left leg on top of mine

to make a stack of ankles.

I hate the king bed where our darkness

can create distance between the sheets.

Those nights we drift apart,

we can become lost to each other.

As the alarm goes off and dreams fade,

we reach to resume the position or,

practice other skin-tight moments.

Borne from Our December

Our cold breaths make words freeze

and shatter between us.

The cold window shines white frost

from the ice moon.

I want to walk into the winter wooded yard,

lie down between the trees and shrubs,

let the roots and earth enfold me

to drink love’s blood

and devour dried bone.

Maybe in spring,

something she can love

will grow.

Love’s Truths

You know she loves me.

She makes idols to my mysteries.

She worships

                          the quicksand I walk on.

She looks up to me

                          from above.

You know

                          I love her.

I stroll on the banks of her muddied flood zone.

I hold her light before me

                          to devour my darkness.

I stand under her sword

                          hanging from a thread of truth.

She hides her tears

                          in the clouds.

I hide my fears behind

                          an arrogance of trust.

And the differences

                          between the mirrors we hold up 

light the fire of passion

                          we escape into.

Richard Baldo has been a clinical psychologist in private practice and only recently started developing his craft in poetry. He was raised in New Jersey and attended Trenton State College, University of Idaho, and University of Nevada Reno. He has returned to study at the creative writing program at UNR. He met his wife in Minsk, and their first date included an English/Russian dictionary. He believes he has been blessed in his career and life.

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