Category Archives: CPR Volume 17, Issue 3

It
by M Ross Henry

It announces itself as a rustle in the bushes, as a tug of the hem, as a flash of light in the eye, as a shadow, as a moment of nostalgia, as a birthmark, as a sea of swallows swallowing the air’s currents, as a stutter, as a slip of the tongue, as the tongue itself drawing cursive across skin, as a phrase, as a password, as an anniversary, as Daylight Saving Time, as rush hour. It announces itself without invitation, without fanfare, without warning. It sends others running in the opposite direction—to their cars, to their homes, to their root cellars and panic rooms. You are different. You hear it coming and you stay, hoping to watch it transmogrify. The world falls silent. Stillness hangs in the summer air as thick as Midwest humidity. Where is it? In the owl? In the couple fighting next door, their bodies scuttling across their bay window like shadow puppets? In the passing car? Finally, you think you see it. You turn your head and it’s gone.

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 17, Issue 3.

placesaver2M Ross Henry lives and writes in the lower Missouri River Basin. The motto of the state where M lives is ad astra per aspera, meaning “to the stars through difficulties,” which captures not only the essence of the human condition but also the attempt to capture that condition in and through poetry.

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Color Is To Do Everything
by Carmen Germain

Five days of rain and now this clean morning
pulse of pure light— luminous on the sill
the peacock plume’s iridescent blue-green.
Whenever I gaze at it, said Darwin,
makes me sick, its inexplicable art
grounded in the functional universe.
Silent chickadees stab gray weeds for seed.
By noon leaden clouds weigh the valley dull.
Battling gloom I load my yellow brush
wild hue burning like southern sun. Why we
stirred red ocher with bison fat, painted
Lascaux with reeds, and pebbles shaped like birds.
Shells evolving from Miocene oceans
to bones, to hands that abandoned the sea.
 

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 17, Issue 3.

placesaver2Carmen Germain is the author of These Things I Will Take with Me (Cherry Grove). Recent work has appeared in Poet lore, The Comstock Review, and The Naugatuck Review. She lives in Washington state and northern British Columbia.

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How to Summons the Blues
by Catherine Moore

Go use a pen at the courthouse. Hope it still registers ink and sign on the dotted line, if you’re willing, and he aint’ nothing but a man, and you nothing but a woman, and the creek don’t rise. Pencil the date on the calendar where it can fade to gray. Spend weekends touring little tin-roofed houses until you find one for your John Hancock. Subscribe it with babies and trouble rabble. Let him autograph your face. Writ the heart. Mark the rafters with lists of needful things. Unpaid bills won’t warrant you, only the law, keep forging until you have to say uncle. His uncle. And he’s out on parole. Might be ready to sing. The cipher left on a front window tells you so. Now is the time to advertise for a posse. Write to every blessed soul. Find the willing and hope the sun don’t set. Wishful, and that creek don’t rise.
 

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 17, Issue 3.

Catherine Moore Catherine Moore’s work has or will appear in Tahoma Literary Review, Southeast Review, Southampton Review, Blue Fifth Review, and in anthologies most recently by Pankhearst Press. She is the winner of the Southeast Review’s 2014 Gearhart poetry prize and has a chapbook “Story” published by Finishing Line Press. Catherine holds an MFA from the University of Tampa. She is tweetable @CatPoetic.

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