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Susan Kan, Editor, Perugia Press

Jendi Reiter interviews Susan Kan, Editor, Perugia Press

Carolyn Moore, Workshop Leader, “Confessions of a Contest Junkie”

Advice from Carolyn Moore, Workshop Leader, “Confessions of a Contest Junkie”

Marilyn Johnson & Lisa Glatt, Editor & Publisher, Pearl Editions/2002 Pearl Poetry Prize Judge

Jendi Reiter interviews Marilyn Johnson & Lisa Glatt, Editor & Publisher, Pearl Editions/2002 Pearl Poetry Prize Judge

David Baratier, Editor, Pavement Saw Press

Jendi Reiter interviews David Baratier, Editor, Pavement Saw Press

Subscriber News: January 2014

Recent honors and publications earned by our newsletter subscribers

War, Un Soir Après la Guerre, Lucky Strike Went to War

WAR The war is still going on Everyone says they hate it But the war goes on No one wants to talk about it Everyone is tired of it Tired of complaining about it But the war goes on Year after year the war goes on It will never end…

The Requiem of Flight

“Break break break. All stations, this is Provider Mike. We have a Fallen Angel. I say again, Fallen Angel. How copy? Over.” You were ripping back the velcro, twisting your shoulders loose, trousers dissolved, and sleeves in dusk when I found you— gunner with a fistful of tissue shoved in…

Last Days of War, Shrapnel, Rite of Passage

In the last days of the war— a lone sign displays: No Iraq War in the bookstore window. Lawn signs have toppled; no protestors at the 4-way-stop. Our only reminder—page five of the local newspaper in small font: Three Alaskans Die in Iraq. During these last days, when you and…

Dead Sea

In the morning I observe his bare rabbinic belly contemplate a purple yoga mat. He is in downward dog, checking email on his laptop. At 11 am we pack: hummus, baba ganoush, feta, pita, tomatoes, pickles and dolmas into plastic bags for the Dead Sea picnic. My lover and I…

News, Fire Balloons (1944), In the Making

NEWS As usual, the clouds let go repeatedly over the skyline. At five, a little sun, some red or gold blinds the city, the electric current of commerce ebbing. Gold goes the city as a man falls out of his cubicle and drops into the red of pleasure…the stars distract…

From: / To:, The Previous Sea, Beauty’s Nest

FROM: / TO: At last, a dark murderous lunatic to whom they are allowed to respond. Here, no one expects them to be strung up by their necks—dangled—and then left to be cut down from a tall tree—and not cry. No law—here—will require them to watch their families hurled on…

The Bright White Sky

1 Behind him the sky was a vault of magnesium lit by the explosion somersaulting him into the air throwing him on his stomach, rattling his bones In the bright white sky a skeleton in GI regalia grew from a black dot to a silhouette in silver limbs windmilling, white…

On Patrol

You really don't know how it is, you see: The books you read, the films you watch, the sense Of wrong and hatred strong that fills your tea Of sympathy for rebels cold who kill Your sons and brothers bold despite their plea. So come with me—a bit of reverie…

The Success of Captain Whitaker’s Dress, Until the Piano Can No Longer Hold Its Tune, Typewriter

One of the old family stories that gets disrobed anytime someone brings up the war is how great uncle Isaac dressed in drag to fool a dopey Union picket into giving him/her keys to Grant’s food storage. ‘Course he stole everything and ‘course the Yanks were fooled. But the untold…

Antietam

Who is she that looketh forth as the morning, fair as the moon, clear as the sun, and terrible as an army with banners? —Song of Solomon DRAMATIS PERSONAE animls: Squirrels, foxes, cows, etc. bares: Wil’s imaginary bear army blucotes: Army of the Potomac buttrnut boys: Army of Northern Virginia…

We Like War Better When It’s Wearing Lipstick

There are production credits for things that go boom, rewrites, budgetary constraints and deadlines so that they can book the flight to Cannes in time to shake hands with the guys in tuxedos. And when they arrive we want to read the piece about the special effects and hear them…

Casualties

1. Everything has to be lined up exactly in its place, no deviation allowed even the minutest deviation is obnoxious, unacceptable, you know what I mean utterly in line, like soldiers People aren’t lined up, most people go off in obscene angles, they’re careless don’t give a shit about rules…

Refugees

Across my dining table’s small expanse of space, children with fly-flecked eyes stare through a screen which flickers with a chance of staying alive—this is not high definition television—but the warping image doesn’t stir the flies—they keep locked on those young faces, scarping trenches through yellow matter oozing deep from…

Cross Reference

Just before he dropped the bomb, he asked, “Do we all agree that this is Hiroshima?” He had to be sure. He had to check. He was a careful man. I am a proofreader, a researcher. I get it. The importance of cross-referencing. He asked his crew, “Do we all…

Oblivion

The sky, this Arabian sky, boils out dry dust a hundred mile thunderhead of dirt and heat beats out a coded hymn that lusts for oblivion; I am erased, this Wind unseats the flesh, a speck of spittle nameless and forgotten moment, unnoticed defeat. Somewhere a woman abides, with mistaken…

Trojan Women

“What’s Hecuba to him or he to Hecuba, that he should weep for her?” Cast as understudy for Cassandra, I was plainly not the drama coach’s favorite. Face it, I was plain. The chosen girl had hair that flamed, also a mad look that settled in only for rehearsals. Outside,…

Uncle Sam Wants You

UNCLE SAM WANTS YOU naked, puts his digit up your stern, jiggles your jigglies, says, Cough. No matter what he finds, or doesn’t, you’re going. He turns you into nobody from somebody, from nobody into everybody, feeds you what once passed through you, bellows, “Kill!” same time killing you. Does…

Scarlet Seconds After the Last March

I. Perched on Har Megiddo Don’t waste your time I’ll tell ye right now Buddy when ye pray ye pray to me not any of Yer idols or coffee sepia ikons that ye got in that Dirt-and-solace look’n rucksack or yer everyman Ideas about whose hand it is what holds…

Col. Gabriel

To him, no one ever says “Pandora's Box.” The uniformed salute. The uninformed just smile, know him as “good ol' Col. Gabe,” the most unreadable face in the staff poker game. And no one anywhere in his corner of the highest security sector at the White House finds it even…

A-bomb Dome, Tancho, I Have Begun the Folding of Cranes

A-BOMB DOME Coming on it from the northeast on an early spring afternoon, it is all in soft shadow. Dark but not brooding dark. Yet a brooding settles on the ragged shape, its open dome of twisted girders like wrought filigree wrenching the sky within into tortured forms of blue,…

This Is How I’ll Tell It When I Tell It to Our Children

The soldiers came around, kicking up dust, calling for women. We saw that they were only boys, with guns like toys, and shook, but they began to shout, and fall down, and get up, laughing. They threw pebbles, flower petals, clods of dirt, pine needles. When swung by their arms,…

FNG, Get Some, Hadji

FNG This is your rack—keep it made and sleep on top of the covers. This is your dresser; this, your wall locker. Keep them locked. There’s only one thief around here: everyone else is just trying to get their shit back. This is the shop. Be here tomorrow morning dressed…

So I Was a Coffin

—For Corporal Kyle Powell, died in my arms, 04 November 2006 They said you are a spear. So I was a spear. I walked around Iraq upright and tall, but the wind blew and I began to lean. I leaned into a man, who leaned into a child, who leaned…

No Socks

Why does my truck radio always wait until I am in the bottom of some canyon, before bellowing out, “unit seven”? That voice had to be the District Manager since there’s only him and a clerk at the office today. On the days I read meters, a temporary clerk staffs…

Under the Surface

It’s precarious really, no matter the amount of make-up, you can never be beautiful. No matter the sublime surgery, you incessantly wish you were someone else. To always know that you can never find love because hidden underneath the happy personality, you know you’ll never be worth keeping. It’s called…

The Color of Tomorrow

I love colors. When I was six years old, I first learned the names of all the colors in English from Papa. He told me the midwife named me Neela, because I turned blue seconds after arriving. No one knew if I'd live past day one. Mommy's cord was my…

The Skedaddler

I remember a trip we took around my tenth birthday. A mighty blizzard had been blowing for over a day, with snow like I had never seen. We were on board a steamer, the Carrie Martin, heading to Falmouth, Virginia to visit General Hooker and his army. There was Pa…

The Healing Heights of Machu Picchu and Dear Madame Renaud

THE HEALING HEIGHTS OF MACHU PICCHU Then up the ladder of the earth I climbed through the barbed jungle’s thickets until I reached you, Macchu Picchu. —Pablo Neruda, “The Heights of Macchu Picchu” “And now we will go up to this temple of the Inca,” said Eddy, our crinkly-eyed guide.…

Letter to Sylvia

It was the dead of winter, February 1980, when I first became aware of your movements. So subtle, at first, like a fish swimming in my belly. I felt growing excitement and the peacefulness of familiarity. The pregnancy, my third, was settling in and unfolding as it should…nothing unusual, I…

Stranger in the Snow

The blustering wind whirled large snowflakes across the ground and thrashed them across the windshield of my car. I parked in the garage of Lincoln’s Public Works as I did every workday for the past eight years, but this was one day I hated to be there. Before getting out…

The Neighborhood Pig

“The Tudors got a pig!” B.J. skids into the kitchen on mud-covered soles. All she can see of me is my rear end. The rest is stuffed deep in the cupboard next to the sink. “Three cans of applesauce, one of corn, twenty-five tomato sauce, why did Don get so…

Searching for Father—A Tale of Repentance, Redemption and Resurrection

A LITTLE BOY'S QUESTION: It was a happy childhood in my Gran's home, in Bristol, England. I was a well-loved only child by my mother and I felt I was the “apple of my grandmother's eye”. Happy and content though I was, there was the inevitable question that one day…

Sleeping Beauty — Au Courant

Prologue Sleeping Beauty's a tale of a princess of yore, it's a classic love story we've all heard before. The Frenchman Perrualt was the first to compose, Brothers Grimm wrote a version they called “Briar Rose”. Tchaikovsky adapted it into Ballet, and Walt Disney's version is well known today. To…

The Golden Fox

poem not available online at this time

The Cravin

with apologies to Edgar Allan Poe Once upon a midnight boring, while her husband lay there snoring, Quite fatigued from rugged work-a-day, as many husbands are; While he lay there nice and cozy, chubby cheeks all warm and rosy, In the middle of his doze, he was awakened by her…

Brother and I

We walked across the fences bisecting home from home, On foot by foot across the wobbly wooden ones Or smooth concrete—we dreaded those, Embedded with the shards of broken bottle glass. (Where I grew up it was essential To keep out the thieves and little boys Who crept and darted…

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