Tag Archives: January 2017

CPR Volume 18, Issue 5 is now online.

Cider Press Review, Volume 18, Issue 5, is now online. Yeah, you heard right…, Issue 5. We’re shifting our new volume year to begin in April starting in 2017. For now, enjoy a special BONUS issue to Volume 18 with new poems by Laura Falsetti, Sara Henning, Elizabeth Onusko, Alyssa Jewell, John A. Nieves, Hayden Saunier, Wendy Drexler, Wendy Taylor Carlisle, Alina Borger, Sarah Carleton, Allyson Jeffredo, Wendy DeGroat, Charlotte Covey, Judith Montgomery, Carmen Germain, and Christopher Citro. Stay tuned later in the month for new reviews by Jeff Whitney and Barbara L. Estrin.

How to Move In
by Hayden Saunier

Bring in the bed first.
Then the books.
Then wait as long as possible before doing anything else.

Go back to work. Sweep out the old place.
Volunteer.
Allow time for your books to adjust their spines

in light of a different dust sifting the air
and the low deep notes sounded by floor joists when
no one’s there.

Let the books and the light in the room
settle in.
Let the bed be.

Because the promise of sex
is almost as good as sex and sometimes better, let’s face it,
so let the bed rest.

The world remains packed
with unfairness, cockroaches, impossible physics,
all none of your choosing

so, for once, allow emptiness to do its work.
Come back open-handed.
Then you’ll be home.

 

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 18, Issue 5.

Hayden SaunierHayden Saunier is the author of three poetry collections, Tips for Domestic Travel, Say Luck, which won the 2013 Gell Poetry Prize, and Field Trip to the Underworld, winner of the Keystone Chapbook Award. Her work has been awarded the Pablo Neruda Award, the Rattle Poetry Prize and the Robert Fraser Award. She lives on a farm in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. (www.haydensaunier.com)

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But I Live Here (Empty Place)
by Christopher Citro

I let out the last of my wolves so long ago
there’s not even a smell left in the chute.
My backyard used to tipple and flounce,
but these days I’m pushing a cheddar
sandwich with a snapped broomstick
in case on the next time around it rouses.
At night the stars fall into the neighbor’s pool
and frolic like children in an animated film
where they’re more fun than actual children.
Over here, clumps of weeds by a brown bush
howling under the newly starless sky.
I walk over to them, expectant for once,
and they immediately stop. They seem
to look up at me as if I shouldn’t be there.
 

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 18, Issue 5.

Christopher Citro is the author of The Maintenance of the Shimmy-Shammy (Steel Toe Books, 2015). He won the 2015 Poetry Competition at Columbia Journal, and his recent and upcoming publications include poetry in Prairie Schooner, Ploughshares, Best New Poets 2014, The Journal, Sixth Finch, Rattle, and Poetry Northwest, and creative nonfiction in Boulevard and Colorado Review. He received his MFA from Indiana University and lives in Syracuse, NY.

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