Volume 27, Issue 1 of Cider Press Review, April 2025 In the first issue of Volume 27, as we emerge from winter, transforming with
Whose hand is this I hold up to the sun for the glint of the blue oval gem, this eye with no pupil, the
My hands fold and unfold all night, packing until dawn. It’s a ritual— I fill the trunk and the work is undone. Her insults
my mother outstretches in the garden with a thumb through hardened dirt. i study her softness tracing leaflines painted deep into her temples. i