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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

Latrise P. Johnson

Remembering with Dad

While riding to the Big Star

Dad would tell us stories

About making soap

With lye in the fireplace.

In the store

I chose my customary Golden Flake Cheese Curls

Denise made claim to a bag of Doritos



In awe

Imagining Dad as the boy

His two little girls

Soap was here on a shelf somewhere

But not on Mom’s list today:

onion, tomato, ground beef, sugar, ketchup

She made spaghetti for dinner

What I wouldn’t give for another story from Dad

Him remembering soap

And us

Being amazed.

My Women

For “Mother” and Ma

I come from ol’ cussing ass women

Women who laugh deep

with hips and cigarettes

My women

trade beer for ice cream

for their kids

Sometimes they send their kids

to live with their fathers

My women

don’t cry

They lock themselves in rooms

They Sit quietly.

And sleep.

My women

watch cars go by from their upstairs windows

They call just to say hey

and to tell you that they made stew

that didn’t turn out right.

The Hardest Thing about Loving Night

                                              I will sleep underneath my moon tonight.

I will kiss light upon your skin

You will fall in love and into a deep sleep

My light

Just for the night

                                              I long to be in your sky

Another moon

Your moon

You belong to your world

                                              I belong with you.

I am here


                                              I know.

I am too

Shadows of time






                                              What is and what was.

                                              Eternal and fragile         we both are.

Lay with me until we are full

Take my light tonight

Let it touch

Let is last

                                              This is all I get.

It is all that I have.

Better Half

I can always tell what parts of you that you love the most.

The parts that make you more

Half this

Part that

Shine lights on those parts

Point to those parts

Put frames around those parts

Place them carefully on mantles

Revere those parts.

The parts of you that aren’t like my parts

The dark parts

Curly parts

The parts that are wide

The parts with roots in Alabama

And Africa

Quiet those parts.

Half Black

Part that

No light to shine there

No frames for me

No mantle for mine

No worship of the parts that made me

That make me

In our body

Light and shadow

Honor and shame

Remembering ways to forget

Loving the ways we hate

What made us

Just to be better than Black.

Pasts, Present, and Futures

I’ve read skies


With thick clouds


Blinding blues

Birds fly and mock

Ground dwellers

who squint from below.

I’ve watched skies


With dark clouds

Where rain falls


Bowed heads

that watch the ground and

walk in circles.

I’ve waded skies


With clouds made of silk

Drank them


While dreaming

Of new kisses and the possibilities of


Latrise P. Johnson is writer/scholar/mother/teacher who works as an associate professor of literacy education. Her scholarship examines the literacy practices of historically marginalized youth and how writing can be used to compose oneself into the world. Her writing explores personal histories, experiences, and relationships and seeks to illuminate how the everyday is beautiful and worth exploration. In addition to writing, she enjoys yoga, music, and traveling.

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