Tag Archives: Volume 22-3

And Then We Emerged to See, Once More, the Stars
by Catherine Marenghi

“e quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle”
—Dante Alighieri, 34th Canto, La Divina Commedia

A tiny thing, a particle, a protein
anointed in oil, wearing a studded crown,
has declared its global coronation,
ordained by the laying on of hands.

And suddenly we learn
it was all unnecessary—
The daily errand, seemingly urgent.
Meetings. Interviews. Presentations.
Early-morning trains. Stadiums filled
for sport or concert. Gatherings around
our glittering tables.

Daily appointments stacked as neatly as firewood
in our calendars, our precious devices,
none of these, it seems,
ever required us.

We barely remember now
what was so important that
we marked our calendars for it.

And when the streets are emptied of us,
that will be the time to keep
our appointment with
what has always been waiting.
Then we will lean from our windows
or simply close our eyes, and see—
and see again, and see for the first time—
the unrelenting stars.


Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 22, Issue 3.

Catherine MarenghiA native of Massachusetts, Catherine Marenghi is an award-winning poet and the author of Breaking Bread: Poems (Finishing Line Press, 2020).She authored Glad Farm: A Memoir (Tate Publishing, 2016), an acclaimed story of poverty, loss, and resilience; President Jimmy Carter called it “inspiring.” She divides her time between Cape Cod, Massachusetts, and San Miguel de Allende, Mexico.

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What the Hammer Knows
by Barbara Daniels

The hammer falls where it will—
the very young, the very old,
their pearl-gray skin. Wind moves

like a great hand, and a mirror
empties. Lost, the exquisite
blooms of the eglantine.

A twisted sassafras. The red
jacket, the long velvet skirt and
figured blouse slipped from me.

Hot blood pulse and the constant
honest ticking of clocks. White
butterfly wings blinking like eyelids.

The simple perfection of apples.
Here are the dead: duplicitous
and funny, laughing, brushing

fragrant hair from their eyes,
sweeping leaf-spattered sidewalks,
counting the visible stars.

A mouse in the wall squeaks
like a hinge. I draw the blinds
to close out the vigilant moon.


Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 22, Issue 3.

Barbara DanielsBarbara Daniels’s Talk to the Lioness was published by Casa de Cinco Hermanas Press in 2020. Her poetry has appeared in Prairie Schooner, Mid-American Review, and elsewhere. Barbara Daniels received a 2020 fellowship from the New Jersey State Council on the Arts.

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by Michael Mercurio

Those rising gods of cloud, possum-belly
cream and white,

that roadkill brightness
(winnowed by rod & cone)

I take like tea: necessary
enactment of incarnation.

October’s not known for light—

no gold sluicing low over meadows,
stippling brooks, dappling fields

—what I noticed was no
miracle, just crepuscule

I can’t resist: dim, brief,
hammered flat from tin.


Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 22, Issue 3.

Michael MercurioMichael Mercurio lives and writes in the Pioneer Valley of Massachusetts. His poetry has appeared in Palette Poetry, Sugar House Review, Rust + Moth, Crab Creek Review, and elsewhere, and his poetry criticism has been published by the Lily Poetry Review and Coal Hill Review.

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