Tag Archives: January 2017

by Sarah Carleton

In the night, in the wind, I search the roadside
for white feathers glued to a leather mask,

but the weeds and burrs won’t give up their secrets
and my neck hurts from looking down.

Traffic shoves a gust—
a plastic bag fills with air and floats away

and for a minute I think it’s my chiffon scarf
that disappeared in 1982.

I have reached the highway of lost things.
I’m keeping a lookout for odd screws,

rosin, milkweed fluff, embroidery needles,
senile cats, sharks’ teeth and a straw hat

that blew off at the beach twenty years ago
and could have washed up, waterlogged,

to lie in limbo among iPods, sock mates,
habits, infatuations, flight phobia and muscle tone.

When my eyes adjust to the dark, I expect
to find it all here on the berm, stuck in the prickles.


Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 18, Issue 5.

sarah-carletonSarah Carleton writes poetry, edits fiction, plays the banjo and raises her son in Tampa, Florida. Her poems have appeared in many publications, including Houseboat, Avatar, Poetry Quarterly, Bijou, Off the Coast, Shark Reef, Wild Violet, The Binnacle, and Cider Press Review.

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We Uncertain Animals
by Elizabeth Onusko

I collect the feathers of flightless birds
while you’re hypnotized by a wind turbine gently tumbling

We study the body language of trees
and are numbed by our complicity in their suffering

In our minds we hold hands
as we jump off a cliff

When we talk to each other
it sounds like snow

We heal
but we don’t know how

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 18, Issue 5.

elizabeth-onusko-2016Elizabeth Onusko is the author of Portrait of the Future with Trapdoor, which received the Bryant-Lisembee Book Prize and was published by Red Paint Hill in spring 2016. She is the editor of Foundry and assistant editor of inter|rupture.

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