Tag Archives: january 2014

Light Will Come,
by Joannie Stangeland

April hides in a wing

where a duck tucks his green head,

mourning’s night long

still and you haven’t felt

yet what sun can conjure,

the stars daffodils make—

tin bucket blooms

a constellation

while petal snow


from ornamental plums

before it rains.

How to carry on

through early squalls, the stiff

damp. Too much, crying

washes you away.

But here is your spring

a bulb,

an egg—days

underground, closer.


Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 16, Issue 2.

Joannie Stangeland

Joannie Stangeland’s most recent book is Into the Rumored Spring from Ravenna Press. She’s also the author of two chapbooks, and her poems have appeared in Superstition Review, Tulane Review, Valparaiso Poetry Review, and other journals and anthologies. Joannie helps edit The Smoking Poet and Cascadia Review.

See all items about Joannie Stangeland

Visit Joannie Stangeland’s contributors page.

As New York Snow,
by David Eye

By two o’clock the snowstorm had begun
its diagonal attack on windows
overlooking East 7th. Inside, low
hum of the fridge. Hard to tell when the sun
went down: the night sky retained a special
glower: crystals, infinitesimal
mirrors, falling, reflect who we are. Sky
the color of burn. Nothing here is pure.

But in the morning upper branches lace
themselves in a graceful matrix. Ivy
firmly woven onto the fire escape
shivers a little less in the rising
slant of the sun. This day will be clean. Let
us meet in the sober and snowswept light.


Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 16, Issue 1.

David EyeDavid Eye’s chapbook, Rain Leaping Up When a Cab Goes Past, is forthcoming from Seven Kitchens Press. His poems have appeared in The Louisville ReviewPuerto del SolStone CanoeConsequence Magazine (finalist, 2010 Consequence Prize for Poetry), and others.

See all items about David Eye

Visit David Eye’s contributors page.

by Katherine Rauk

What light there is in me
waits like a winter field

the way stars, by day, hide
like seeds’ buried choirs.

Once I called a herd of deer
floating through dusk Vespers

and was not mistaken.
Give me your song

and I’ll give you the unlit
match of my tongue.


Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 16, Issue 1.

Katharine RaukKatherine Rauk is the author of the chapbook Basil (Black Lawrence Press 2011). She has poems published in Harvard Review, Georgetown Review, Harpur Palate, Cream City Review, and elsewhere, and she is an assistant editor of Rowboat: Poetry in Translation.

See all items about Katherine Rauk

Visit Katherine Rauk’s contributors page.