Tag Archives: Volume 20-3

With Time
by Brian Satrom

I’m the one to hollow the pumpkin and carve a face.
The doorbell rings again. You adore the children
tonight in their costumes. A warm night.
We have no costumes, just the two of us
and the space between forming a shape we keep repeating.
My turn to go and hand out candy. We finally threw away
the photo from the booth that merged our faces,
a composite to show what a daughter of ours
might look like. She looked freaky not being real.
This isn’t yours alone to carry, isn’t your failure.
We won’t let us drift apart, but there’s nothing
to work on or figure out. With time you’ll say
your body doesn’t crave being a mother anymore.
You can’t say it now, your silence
a place into which I don’t know how to follow you.

 

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 20, Issue 3.

Brian SatromBrian Satrom’s home is in Minneapolis, but he also lived in L.A. for many years, among other places, and completed an MFA at the University of Maryland. His poetry has appeared in journals like The Laurel Review, Poetry Northwest, MAYDAY Magazine, and TAB, the latter nominating his work for a Pushcart Prize. His book reviews have appeared in MAYDAY and on Colorado Review’s Center for Literary Publishing website.

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CPR Volume 20, Issue 3 is Now Online

October, 2018

Cider Press Review is very pleased to present new works by Alex Miller, Suzanne Rogier Marshall, Phillip Sterling, Sherry Rind, Susan Okie, Alyson Miller, Erica Bernheim, Allison Bird,Wendy Taylor Carlisle, Matt Mason, Chanel Brenner, John A. Nieves, David Sloan, Joannie Stangeland, Sara Moore Wagner, Avra Elliott, and Neelima Vinod. (New reviews expected as soon as I can post them!)

Enjoy the current issue at CPR Volume 20-3.

Matins, S.C.
by Alex Miller

Morning in those fields is the prickled fur
of a fox weaving through thickets,

or a raccoon, or the mussed pelt of a deer
matted with witch-hazel gums and sedum.

Above the brush a stratosphere of dragonflies,
some flinty dun, some caribbean chartreuse.

The earth sweats leprous sweetness. And you wake up
settled but placeless, purblind, half asleep,

saying the litany of things.

 

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 20, Issue 3.

Alex MillerAlex Miller is the co-author of A Bow From My Shadow, a collection of poems written in dialogue with poems by Luke Irwin (Ecco Qua Press, 2013). His work has appeared in The Cortland Review, Measure, The Adirondack Review, Pif, The Curator, and Lake Effect. He is a Lecturer in Western Literature at Gordon College in Wenham, MA, and an English teacher.

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