Tag Archives: July 2017

Nurse Log
by Jeanne Obbard

Kayaking in
the maritime forest,
I lag behind the guide and see

the white egret, shadow-blue heron,
nutria’s black nose breaking
the surface, an arrow
pursued by its wake

The paddle does not exist except
by resting in its own cupped hand
Happiness also
a liminal state, a stillness full
of small things:

the submerged log, the shiver of grass
on one facet,
and the tiny fishes in its sphere
They are the size of this word:

fish

darting quicker than the time it takes
to see. But not faster
than joy

 

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 19, Issue 2.

Jeanne ObbardJeanne Obbard received her bachelor’s degree in feminist and gender studies from Bryn Mawr College, and works in clinical trial management. She was granted a Leeway Seedling Award for Emerging Artists in 2001. Her work has appeared in American Poetry Review, Anderbo, Atlanta Review, Barrow Street, Cleaver, EDGE, Philadelphia Stories, and The Rumpus. She can be found on the web at jeanneobbard.com.

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On the Balcony
by Lana Spendl

Alfred Kazin’s Journals are streets and sun and fruit in market crates, and when he and other voices are not in my apartment, I crumple like paper, nothing inside. Then I want to burn at edges and folds, glow into ash. Like the love list my astrologer friend told me to write that I burned in a ceramic bowl on the balcony outside. Afterwards I sent her a close-up of ashes and bowl. I filtered the shot with warm summer light. I did not send her pictures of my tired eyes, my coat and pajama pants, the overcast sky. The morning like a metal dumpster, like cement-block graffiti. And I, not resting gaze on anything, eager to head inside. Flicking lighter in breeze, the paper taking its time.

 

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 19, Issue 2.

Lana Spendl
Lana Spendl’s chapbook of flash fiction, We Cradled Each Other in the Air, was published by Blue Lyra Press in 2017. She lives in Bloomington, Indiana, where she is working on her first novel.

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Conjecture
by Gerry LaFemina

If one day birds don’t alight on the sycamores
outside our window, if they avoid

our entire stretch of 73rd Street
so that the whole block surrenders
to the cacophony of garbage trucks & their side-riders,
delivery drivers, the dog walkers whose rambunctious

barking charges pull them toward Broadway;
if pigeons, sparrows, & starlings forsake us,
might we not notice,

as the coffee maker sets to work &
we pour syrup on waffles,
the quiet beneath it all? Might we not miss

the chirp & chatter,
the way a couple separated by a business trip
misses the snoring,
the uneasy touches at night?

Might we then

go outside with old bread, with seed,
to entice them back? Would there be rapture
or weeping in that rush & flutter of wings?
 

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 19, Issue 2.

Gerry LaFeminaGerry LaFemina’s numerous award-winning collections of poetry include The Parakeets of Brooklyn, Vanishing Horizon, and Little Heretic. His collection of essays on poets and prosody, Palpable Magic, came out in 2015 from Stephen F. Austin University Press and his textbook, Composing Poetry: A Guide to Writing Poems and Thinking Lyrically was recently released from Kendall Hunt.

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