Category Archives: CPR Volume 20, Issue 2

CPR Volume 20, Issue 2, July, 2018

Ode to an Ex
by James K. Zimmerman

periodically I seek
you out online

someone I don’t want

to know about

hope to find you-
tubes or real
estate listings

hope you’re not (un-

happy (un-


just barely

there in google
search or face-
book frenzy (un-

alone with favorite
books, wings
tethered, lightly soiled

wearing emptiness
in black or sleeve-


years weathered
slowly without a face-
lift or spiritectomy

soul intact if not (un-


shoes worn but still
not quite (un-


periodically I seek
to commute

the sentence



Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 20, Issue 2.

James K. ZimmermanJames K. Zimmerman is an award-winning poet and Pushcart Prize nominee.  His work appears or is forthcoming in Miramar, Pleiades, Chautauqua, American Life in Poetry, The Evansville Review, and Nimrod, among others.  He is author of “Little Miracles” (Passager, 2015) and “Family Cookout” (Comstock, 2016), winner of the Jessie Bryce Niles Prize.

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Independence Day
by Sandra Kohler

Independence, dependence. So much
depends…. Upon the light at sunrise, stars at sunset, wind in the shrubbery, roses in neglected gardens, upon the ubiquitous cats, upon the sparrows, the sparrows.

Upon the thrum of insects in the trees
at daybreak or nightfall, upon the forgotten shoes on the landing, the spoiled milk in the cup, the one book left turned upside down open to a page its reader will never come back to, sign of the insomniac’s night of wakings.

Upon a chord, an undertone, an under-
tow of sound in the ears of silence,
a silence beyond stars, wind, roses,
cats, sparrows, shoes, cups, books,


Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 20, Issue 2.

Sandra Kohler’s third collection of poems, Improbable Music, appeared in May, 2011 from Word Press. Her previous books are The Ceremonies of Longing (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2003), and The Country of Women (Calyx Books, 1995).

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by Susan Okie

Allow me the moment
when a bird trembles on my palm,
when I eat bread hot from the oven
or lick the honey of my love’s skin.

Let me not keep plums past ripeness,
knowing they must be tasted.
When we were new to each other,
he and I would stop the car, run into

the woods to lie down. Let me root
through the freezer for the ice cream.
We don’t know which moonrise
will be the last we see.

If you’re watching, if you made all this,
I guess you didn’t plan to keep it
to yourself. Probably you invented joy.
Why would you intend me to save it?

Make me as I was at six, the summer
before I learned about sin and penance—
feet bare in warm grass, the air delicious
on my skin, running to the backyard swing.


Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 20, Issue 2.

Susan OkieSusan Okie is a doctor, a poet, and a former Washington Post medical reporter. She received her MFA in Poetry from Warren Wilson College. Her work has appeared in The Gettysburg Review, The Bellevue Literary Review, and elsewhere. Her poem, “Perseid,” was chosen by Michael Collier as the first prize winner in the 2012 Bethesda Poetry Contest.

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