Category Archives: CPR Volume 19, Issue 3

CPR Volume 19, Issue 3
October, 2017

Thirty-Three and a Third Revolutions
by Katie Riley

Summers ago we skirted the low roads
in West Virginia where the wear of tires

became a human scream as a train
whistle caught up with us.

I clutched your flesh under ragged
gray cotton, felt your lowest rib.

Even in quiet moments, God remembers
reaching through Adam’s chest

to steal that rib.
At the intersection of a dead road,

where a black and bone sign points
to where route 62 unravels east and west,

choose the one you can’t live without—
the bad habit you can’t break.

Last summer I rode west on 62 to a house
pummeled by rain, a home full of you.

How daring the redwing black bird clings
to a seed head

while the traffic, uncaring, passes.
Trees grow against the blood

of the horizon, and I turn to the thick taste
of wood smoke, to carefully clipped

lawns under chill street lights.


Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 19, Issue 3.

Katie Riley lives in Lexington, KY, a city she fell in love with as a child. She is a graduate of Murray State University’s MFA in Creative Writing and her poems have appeared in Still: The Journal and Border Crossings.

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The Long Shore
by Kelly Lenox

Cape Kiwanda, Oregon

On this beach, a broken

sand dollar maps

an interruption, questions

the sequence of things—was

the shell broken, then urchin eaten?

Or, the creature died

and its grainy home

fell to pieces in the surf.

A confusion of cycles: there is

no line from start to finish on this shore

where every seventh wave is severed

in the brutal tearing of a perfect line.

The split curl harvests foam

spilt by earlier waves,

and that ivory-colored crust

climbs a ladder of crests,

with a futility unremarked

by fishermen launching

their dories into the fierce swell

below the cape, barely sheltered

from the lunar thrust of a neap tide.

When the boats return, their crews

waste not a single motion

reversing the morning’s ritual

of truck and trailer, engine and winch,

Now from each team, one jumps out,

wades ashore, backs the trailer

down to the edge. The other

guns the motor. The wet one guides,

and they load the boat, cinch it tight

before truck tires can sink

in the sucking wet sand.

Accelerating toward town, finished

is the wrong word for what they are.


Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 19, Issue 3.

Kelly LenoxKelly Lenox ( is the author of The Brightest Rock (March 2017). Her poems and translations appear in Raven Chronicles, Rappahannock Review, The American Journal of Nursing, Faultline, The Wide Shore, Still: The Journal, RHINO, and elsewhere. She holds an MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts and works as a science writer and editor for the National Institutes of Health.

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Letter to the Low Tide
by Kelly Cressio-Moeller

I see what you’re doing — vanishing                  to make me feel less alone.

Your thin skin easy                             in the moon’s quiet pocket, scuff

of pale blue.

I, too, want

to unhook myself from shore.

We are not narrow-hearted,                 simply responding to gravity’s dark crest.

Wait for the rush,

unseen but quickening, as the high-spired shell surrenders its song

only when brought close.


Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 19, Issue 3.

Kelly Cressio-MoellerKelly Cressio-Moeller’s poetry can be found at Crab Orchard Review, Southern Humanities Review, THRUSH, Valparaiso Poetry Review, and ZYZZYVA among others. Her poems have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best New Poets, Best of the Net, and on Verse Daily. She is an Associate Editor at Glass Lyre Press. Visit her website at

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