Tag Archives: volume 16-1

by Sharon Olson

The nut-tree sisterhood, what better name
for a row of crazy women, wearing hats
of entablature, pushing down their skirts
on a breezy porch, or frozen pilaster-flat
against a supporting wall,

sometimes forming the base of a table,
or candlesticks, standing as rigid
as a portmanteau, but no one available
to carry their cloaks,

six of them stolen by Lord Elgin, and
for more than a hundred years holding
their poses in the British Museum, their
weight shifted, contrapposto, three on
the right leg, three on the left,

only five of them returning to Greece
after much finger-pointing and posturing,
the girls themselves insisting they were
not slaves but merely brawny, and comely,

coming from the same hometown as Helen,
a village of walnut trees, Karyae—hence
their name—where the nut women
placed baskets of live reeds
on their heads and danced.


Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 16, Issue 1.

Sharon OlsonSharon Olson, a retired librarian, lives in Guilford, Connecticut. Her book The Long Night of Flying (Sixteen Rivers Press) was published in 2006, and her poems have appeared recently in Arroyo Literary Review and U.S. 1 Worksheets.

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by Bernadette McBride

How not to begin with you? You, though anonymous
at your genesis, were the first after all, to stir the will.

We could make the case that Eve was the thinker—
judging between adventure and fear—the Original Thrill

of discovering something untried pitted against
the free-falling-from-a-high-place kind of terror that comes

with the dare. How she must have wondered
at your luscious crimson, your globe-y solidity. Been drawn

by your smooth shine that, for her, having no precedent
to follow in her plunge, could end in Eureka! Or poison.


Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 16, Issue 1.

Bernadette McBrideBernadette McBride is the author of Waiting for the Light to Change (Word Tech Editions, 2013). A former Poet Laureate of Bucks County, PA, her poems have been recently published in the UK, widely published nationally, and have been twice nominated for a Pushcart Prize. In October, 2013, Garrison Keillor read her poem “Flying Lessons” on the daily broadcast of NPR’s “The Writer’s Almanac.”

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by Lynn Pedersen

No plans and preparations without first
having a vision, like an angel appearing to you
in your bedchamber, or thought slipping in
as you butter your toast, stir your coffee. And how
to know what to pack, especially for a trip to where
no one’s ever been? Easier to follow
a river or a mountain range. I’ve read
there are few new roads, that most roads
follow common paths, follow the route
animals have taken, as if the animals know
the easiest grade to follow, the path of water,
and the Oregon trail is just a dot-to-dot
of Indian footpaths—so Lewis and Clark,
or some other explorers, can’t take credit.
And particularly difficult is the journey
to a place that never existed—the Fountain of Youth.
How do you map that? What part of a mountain range,
what river corresponds to fantasy? Beginning
is the hardest part, the part that unlike the vision
takes action. It takes loading the wagon,
telling the relatives goodbye,
packing ammunition. You can never be sure
what you will need, and so the Oregon Trail is littered—
trunks, clothes, pianos, chairs, silverware—
anything to lighten the load
before crossing the mountains. In any journey,
there is a time when you have to ditch the sick
horse, the cumbersome companion—the naysayers.
It’s all about getting somewhere
(and maybe back again) with your hide intact. Otherwise,
there’s no one to tell the story.


Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 16, Issue 1.

Lynn Pedersen’s poems, essays, and reviews have appeared in New England Review, Poet Lore, The Southern Poetry Review, and The Palo Alto Review. Her chapbook, Theories of Rain, was published by Main Street Rag in 2009. A graduate of the Vermont College of Fine Arts, she lives in Atlanta, Georgia.

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