Tag Archives: april 2013

Nocturne: Shelter Island
by Lorraine Doran

From Phrasebook for the Pleiades, winner
of the 2012 Cider Press Review Book Award

The last ferry leaves and I watch it
become a dim light at pier’s end, thinking
it does not matter to me as my rowboat
thuds the piling. And I would lie here awhile

but everything is moving forward.
The wind wishes it of all of us: ragged net
and towline, hurricane lamp. It urges us
off our hooks. An entire island out of season,

empty slips and every other mansion
abandoned. Only the ocean insisting on its sound.
In a bay window a green balloon bobs
toward the amber chandelier. A dead seagull,

a circle of claw prints around it in the sand.
Further on, a bouquet of rose stems, petals detached
by some blunt force, the bow: immaculate,
gathering back a short-lived joy.

We leave behind scenes others come upon and wonder
what happened. The bird becomes a god
the world forms around. Broken glass takes
the shape it once made as it lit the way back.

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 15, Issue 2.

Lorraine Doran holds a J.D. and an M.F.A. in poetry from New York University. Her recent poems and essays have appeared in FIELD, Gulf Coast, Barn Owl Review, and American Poetry Review. She teaches in the Expository Writing Program at N.Y.U.

Her manuscript, Phrasebook for the Pleiades, won the 2012 Cider Press Review Book Award, and will be released in January, 2014.

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by Rebecca Aronson

Before the cake there were eggs and flour. I sang as I beat one egg into another to make a yellow foam. Back to the shell, my song unraveled and the yolk pulled up into itself. Forlorn veil of sun-laced whites in their reverse slide. Before the eggs in their neat refrigerated cups, a factory stink. Before that, the mother rush, the nest, the meal and seed and one bent feather floating in a water trough.

A murmur is an engine revving inside a muffler of snow, muted by the late hour, the flickering streetlight, the farm a pure distance. When we raised chickens, we gave the eggs away to anyone who could tuck a shell quickly into their cool palm—there could be no thieves, then, and so thievery diminished. We looked each other in the eye and nodded our morning greetings.


Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 15, Issue 2.

Rebecca Aronson’s first book Creature, Creature won the Main-Traveled Press poetry book contest and was published in 2007. Her poems have appeared in Tin House, the Georgia Review, Cream City Review, Mas Tequila Review, Quarterly West, and others.

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Farm Girls
by Doris Matthews

don’t know the difference
between a rock and
a hard place because
it’s all rocks and hard places
all sweat and moans
to no one in particular
although the spider knows
when the hand reaches up to brush
the web clear from the face
and the rats know too as
they scamper away from the footfalls
but the calf knows the touch
of fingers on its nose
then gently sucks the softness
thinking of mother so it is mother
when the spider dances.


Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 15, Issue 2.

Doris (Dee) Matthews grew up one of seven children on a small family farm in North Brookfield, Massachusetts, during the early 1960’s. Her love and respect for animals and the natural world comes through to her from her father, paternal grandmother and great-grandmother all of Abenaki Native American heritage.

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