Tag Archives: January 2020

by Will Cordeiro

I sleep the sleep of winter hours, the owl-
soft flight come swooping down from sovereign dark
when grass bends windward where a small vole prowls;
alight as if one bright—one fallen star…

—Awake from slumbering like an April bear
who licks the afterbirth and dewy pelt
of newborn cubs, then carries them off elsewhere
to swipe the first ripe blackberries in snowmelt.

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 21, Issue 4.

Will Cordeiro has work appearing or forthcoming in Best New Poets, The Cincinnati Review, Copper Nickel, Poetry Northwest, Sycamore Review, The Threepenny Review, Zone 3, and elsewhere. Will co-edits the small press Eggtooth Editions and teaches in the Honors College at Northern Arizona University.

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Small Poem for
Waking in Winter
by Hayden Saunier

When he rises first, steps downstairs

softly in darkness to stir up the fire, start coffee,

and the dog, who’s slept heavy as my dead

across the end of the bed, rises and follows,

when both cats uncoil from their corners,

rev their small engines to follow

the dog and the man because being cats

they must know every action,

then I slide my whole body to the bed’s exact center,

stretch into an octopus, sea star,

DaVinci’s Vitruvian woman or man,

until with my backbone, I discover the ridge

between valleys two bodies make in a bed

no matter how hard they try

to be one. No matter the mattress, no matter

the love, no matter the years.

I lie still as long as I can, pinned straight through

the heart by gravity and luck

to this bed in this room in these trees by a creek,

night sky turning once more to day.


Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 21, Issue 4

Hayden SaunierHayden Saunier is the author of three poetry collections, Tips for Domestic Travel, Say Luck, which won the 2013 Gell Poetry Prize, and Field Trip to the Underworld, winner of the Keystone Chapbook Award. Her work has been awarded the Pablo Neruda Award, the Rattle Poetry Prize and the Robert Fraser Award. She lives on a farm in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. (www.haydensaunier.com)

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What is revealed in the winter
by Dameion Wagner

You were right
about the rain.
I wanted to see the snow
fall, the wind as sharp
as the switches from the
elderberry bush, or was it
a willow
irresistible arcs
streaking whatever sky,
it’s nothing it is
nothing. I am
dizzy under
grab my hand
and run with me
before the cold
bends us down
low low rain is off
at a gray distance now.

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 21, Issue 4.

Dameion Wagner lives and works in Columbus, Ohio. His poetry has appeared in Crab Creek Review, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, The Gordian Review, As It Ought To Be Magazine, and in Tilde: A Literary Journal (among a few others). His reviews appear in Heavy Feather Review, The Rumpus, with new reviews forthcoming in The Adroit Journal and 4squarereview. He won Miami University’s 2017 Jordan-Goodman Poetry Prize and is a 2018 recipient of the Academy of American Poets University Prize.

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