Category Archives: CPR Volume 16, Issue 4

Cider Press Review, Volume 16, Issue 4, October, 2014

This, animal
by Heather Sommer

Autumn again and we’re both in our own corners of elsewhere. I wonder if you sit by the window, too. I wonder, of all your former lovers, who you’re thinking of. This is that time, after all, when the heart plays sudden death with nostalgia. I know from my window I can see mountaintops even though it’s too dark to see them now. How I felt when you wrote after so long. When the leaves start to turn, I undress. Animals can sense a storm. I wonder if you sit by the window, too. I wonder how much of what I left can you taste. Like omen. Like refract, lovely, portend. I’m accused of fragmenting and it’s likely so. This, what I’m worst at. This, animal.

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 16, Issue 4.

Heather SommerHeather Sommer earned her MFA in Poetry from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. Her work has recently appeared or is forthcoming in decomP magazinE, H.O.W. Journal, Columbia Poetry Review and [PANK]. She currently lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, Zak, and cat, Jade.

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Stoned Librettist
by Geri Rosenzweig

Shadow my one and only
for dusk on the roads

you’re like Bly’s
lovers who go home
through the dark autumn nights.

Here are the sheets
I pulled off the line,

with sun and wind,
here’s a bird,
juggling songs

in the dogwood like a stoned librettist.
How many
heavens do you need?

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 16, Issue 4.

Geri Rosenzweig was born and grew up in Ireland. Work has appeared in Nimrod, Rhino, and Poet Lore. She won the BBC Wildlife Magazine Poetry Award, the Rueben Rose Award, (Visions Israel), the Walt Whitman Poetry Society, NY Poetry Award. She has had two chapbooks published, and a collection, Under the Jasmine Moon (HMS Press, Canada).

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Clear Water
by Rachel Heimowitz

Under haystacks, an apple orchard
nearby, under the silence of clouds
lingering overhead, before age
and knowing limited us in the cellars
of despair or desire, when a dream
was clear water we could enter,
or that entered us,
a fresh apple, its skin
saran-wrap tight and cool against
a cheek, a table at dinner covered
with a cotton cloth, a cup of milk
drunk slowly after a day soaked
in the smell of sun-drenched hay,
feeling nothing
but the curve of the earth under our backs.


Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 16, Issue 4.

Rachel HeimowitzRachel Heimowitz’s work has appeared in Spillway, Crab Orchard Review, and Prairie Schooner. Her poems were nominated for The 2013 Pushcart Prize and her first chapbook, What the Light Reveals is due out in 2014 from Tebot Bach Press. Rachel is currently pursuing her MFA at Pacific University in Oregon.

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