but I forgot rollerblading past knobby old oaks, hollows gaping at our speed. I forgot wheels stuttering on cracked pavement, skidding on fallen olives,
but I forgot rollerblading past knobby old oaks, hollows gaping at our speed. I forgot wheels stuttering on cracked pavement, skidding on fallen olives,
Welcome to the 25th Volume of poetry from Cider Press Review! In Issue 1, we continue CPR’s tradition of publishing finely crafted poetry, and, fittingly,
Our cars were old. My mother did not shave her armpits. My father wore Birkenstocks. Our house was built in 1885. We rented. My