Tag Archives: Volume 20-2

A Small Death
by Susanna Lang

A bat drags its broken wing along the pavement
flutter-kick flutter-kick
and I can do nothing.

Its fur is a glossier brown than I’d imagined.
It doesn’t belong in the daylight
but I can do nothing.

Young women with their dogs on leashes chatter in unintelligible languages.
Elsewhere, people are dying the sudden deaths of war
or the slow diminishment of famine

but this small death is taking place at our feet
while clover and columbine bloom sanguine at the edge of the path.

 

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

Susanna LangSusanna Lang’snew collection of poems, Travel Notes from the River Styx, was released in summer 2017 from Terrapin Books. Her last collection was Tracing the Lines (Brick Road Poetry Press, 2013).  A two-time Hambidge fellow, her poems have appeared in such journals as Little Star, Prairie Schooner, december, Prime Number Magazine and Verse Daily, as well as an earlier issue of Cider Press Review.  Her translations of poetry by Yves Bonnefoy include Words in Stone and The Origin of Language. Among her current projects is Self-Portraits, a chapbook collection of ekphrastic poems focused on women across the arts. She lives in Chicago, and teaches in the Chicago Public Schools.

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Walking Through Witchgrass
by Judy Kaber

Tickling my calves as I step along
the side of the road, purple-tinged

panicle with a point like a witch’s broom,
not quite ready to let go, this bunch-grass

will spread its seeds wide from this
plumy fringe. Last year’s chaff

already fallen in some faraway field. Gone
the morning dew so slick along tufted shaft,

my feet crackle in dry grass. My mother’s
words come in letters; my father’s not at

all, hidden in thicker dirt than this panic
grass, buried below some darker surface.

Caterpillars of several skippers feed
on this foliage, mouths churning. I taste

the dusty air, remember my father’s arm
lifting, the horseshoe swooping high, clanking

down in a puff around the metal stake while I
skulked in a corner of the yard, a cup

of warm Kool-Aid in hand. The road I left on
tarry-hot and long, so long I can’t name

it’s turnings, any more than my father can name
the grasses, growing rampant beside this road.

 

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

Judy KaberJudy Kaber’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Eclectica, Crab Creek Review, Off the Coast, and The Comstock Review. Contest credits include the Maine Postmark Poetry Contest, the Larry Kramer Memorial Chapbook Contest, and, most recently, second place in the 2016 Muriel Craft Bailey Poetry Contest. She lives in Maine.

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Summer School
by Phillip Sterling

The grass has added tent
to its vocabulary

The air: shuttlecock

And the lowest limbs
of the crabapple: boy

 

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

Phillip SterlingPhillip Sterling is the author of two poetry collections, And Then Snow and Mutual Shores, a collection of short fiction, In Which Brief Stories Are Told, and four chapbook-length series of poems:  Significant Others, Quatrains, Abeyance, And for All This: Poems from Isle Royale. He has served as Artist-in-Residence for both Isle Royale National Park and Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore.

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