In this issue of Cider Press Review, we perseverate on generational conversations—floating between what is past, what is present, and into the liminality of
Weeping, I count five egrets, new here and full of grace when driving rain and a stormy sea carve a lake into our lawn.
Time and again in Volume 26, Issue 3 of Cider Press Review, we are confronted with the divine interwoven with the ordinary. In Katharyn
After Sylvia Plath The bushes are laden, draw my blood with their thorns. To find sweetness or at least some nourishment, Find sweetness before