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by Aura Christi

translated from Romanian by Adam J. Sorkin and Petru Iamandi

The light sends its ambassadors among the birches,
forgets its fires in the roses and the sunset.
It’s evening even in words; you rock the archangels.
Everything somehow appears finished.

The dawn waits to form you
while Atropos sharpens her scissors.
You saw the boundary between people and the law
while the Fates fell among their thoughts.

The trees have taken their shadows to pasture.
Everything breathes a dull waiting.
The garden gathers its richness of beauties
and laughs in the colt that frisks about

after butterflies, field rabbits and wasps.
When peace set loose its offspring, it counted them in the sun
and drank the dew from the stag’s crown,
I separated night from day and,

to my utter surprise, in the candid spheres
of the afternoon floated as in a dream, slowly, singing,
feverish beings, nightingales lonely
as soon as they took shape and mind.


Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 21, Issue 1.

Aura ChristiAura Christi has published 15 volumes of poetry and 6 novels. Born in 1967 in Chișinău, Republic of Moldova, she now lives in Romania. The poems here derive from her 2016 collection, The God’s Orbit.

Petru IamandiPetru Iamandi teaches at the Dunărea de Jos University, Galați, Romania. A prolific translator, with over 100 books between Romanian/English, he translated Mihail Gălățanu’s The Starry Womb with Sorkin (Diálogos, 2014).

Adam J. Sorkin has won numerous translation awards including the Poetry Society (U.K.), Ioan Flora, and Poesis prizes. He recently published Mircea Dinescu’s The Barbarians’ Return, translated with Lidia Vianu (Bloodaxe, 2018).

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Drizzling Ghazal
by Alison Stone

Picnic—We flirt and eat cake in the rain.
Bad actors banter and run through fake rain.

Classics’ women vanquished by weather. They
faint in heat, take sick from wind, shake in rain.

Two low-yield years. Barn mortgaged, fields planted,
the farmer waits—so much at stake—for rain.

Does anything depend on these nut-brown
ducks next to a silver rake in the rain?

Camp memories—Color Wars, burnt s’mores, scent
of pine. Her first kiss. A snake in the rain.

Centuries of harassment, abuse. Time’s
Up, women chant. Buried seeds wake in rain.

The drizzle. The stray ball. The child. The truck.
What happens next? Can he brake in the rain?

Bodies absorb sorrow. The earth takes back
our bones. Flame swallows paper; the lake, rain.

What do the old know? What secrets hide in
lines, whisper from joints that ache in the rain?

Too much screen-time. Up your exposure to
flowers, Alison, your intake of rain.


Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 21, Issue 1.

Alison StoneAlison Stone has published five poetry collections, including Ordinary Magic, (NYQ Books, 2016), Dangerous Enough (Presa Press 2014), and They Sing at Midnight, which won the 2003 Many Mountains Moving Poetry Award. She has been awarded Poetry’s Frederick Bock Prize and New York Quarterly’s Madeline Sadin award. A licensed psychotherapist, she has private practices in NYC and Nyack.

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This time of year
by Sherry Rind

everybody’s making holes

the chicks scratch through their litter
only to find yesterday’s news beneath

the flickers peck the earth for ants
and enlarge their home in the alder

my nephew’s son cries out
when every hole in the bath fills up

I dig post-holes for the new fence
and little divots in a row for peas

and tiny needle-holes
across the sheer fabric of a summer dress

and my heart dissolves
in the space between your coming and going


Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 21, Issue 1.

Sherry RindSherry Rind is the author of four collections of poetry and editor of two books about Airedale terriers. She has received awards from the National Endowment for the Arts, Anhinga Press, Artist Trust, Seattle Arts Commission, and King County Arts Commission. Her poems have appeared recently in Cloudbank, Marathon Literary Review, Crosswinds, Weatherbeaten, Shark Reef Review, and others.

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