Time and again in Volume 26, Issue 3 of Cider Press Review, we are confronted with the divine interwoven with the ordinary. In Katharyn
My daughter quivers across from me at the table. A teabag leaks its copper blood. A clock’s ticking in the wordless air. She is
—after Linda Gregg Rather than ride alone some nights we grip the same silver rail, at each stop the voice a proper Charon. Other
for Richard Layzell How did the goat die? It stepped too high, too fast. Thunder threatened from the sea. It bleated once, twice as