Category Archives: CPR Volume 16, Issue 1

Cider Press Review, Volume 16, Issue 1, January, 2014

As New York Snow,
by David Eye

By two o’clock the snowstorm had begun
its diagonal attack on windows
overlooking East 7th. Inside, low
hum of the fridge. Hard to tell when the sun
went down: the night sky retained a special
glower: crystals, infinitesimal
mirrors, falling, reflect who we are. Sky
the color of burn. Nothing here is pure.

But in the morning upper branches lace
themselves in a graceful matrix. Ivy
firmly woven onto the fire escape
shivers a little less in the rising
slant of the sun. This day will be clean. Let
us meet in the sober and snowswept light.


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

David EyeDavid Eye’s chapbook, Rain Leaping Up When a Cab Goes Past, is forthcoming from Seven Kitchens Press. His poems have appeared in The Louisville ReviewPuerto del SolStone CanoeConsequence Magazine (finalist, 2010 Consequence Prize for Poetry), and others.

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by Katherine Rauk

What light there is in me
waits like a winter field

the way stars, by day, hide
like seeds’ buried choirs.

Once I called a herd of deer
floating through dusk Vespers

and was not mistaken.
Give me your song

and I’ll give you the unlit
match of my tongue.


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

Katharine RaukKatherine Rauk is the author of the chapbook Basil (Black Lawrence Press 2011). She has poems published in Harvard Review, Georgetown Review, Harpur Palate, Cream City Review, and elsewhere, and she is an assistant editor of Rowboat: Poetry in Translation.

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by Michelle Matthees

A flock of doves condensed into vestments.
All of winter stood before the people,
disguised as a man with a pleasant singing voice.

Candles were lit behind him to stave off
the cold, and as they climbed their private
staircases, young women in distant lands

pressed their faces onto glass windows.
Below, the burnt leaves of November
were stoked and lifted their gray silk into the air.

Meanwhile the man stood before his admirers
and in the oven of his arms baked bread.
It appeared, steaming, clean, whole.

An old peasant woman stoked the leaves,
gray scarf rounding her head into stone.
“Why must there always be betrayal?” she asked.

It was dusk, and the dark soil offered no reply.


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

Michelle MattheesMichelle Matthees’s poems can be found in Pank, The Prose Poem Project, The Bellingham Review, Bloomsbury Review, Prove, and elsewhere. She is a current recipient of Minnesota State Arts Board Artist Initiative Grant and has received awards in the past from Intermedia Arts in Minneapolis, The Jerome Foundation, AWP, and other arts organizations. She lives in Duluth, Minnesota.

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Visit Michelle Matthees’s contributors page.