Poetry Summer 2018 fiction all issues
whitespacefiller
Cover Michael Lønfeldt
Carol Lischau
Son
& other poems
Noreen Ellis
Jesus Measured
& other poems
Amanda Moore
Learning to Surf
& other poems
Adin Zeviel Leavitt
Harvest
& other poems
Jim Pascual Agustin
Stay a Minute, the Light is Beautiful
& other poems
Timothy Walsh
The Wellfleet Oyster
& other poems
Anna Hernandez-French
Watermelon Love
& other poems
J. L. Grothe
Six Pregnancies
& other poems
Sue Fagalde Lick
Beauty Confesses
& other poems
Abby Johnson
Finding Yourself on Google Maps
& other poems
Marisa Silva-Dunbar
Frisson
& other poems
Merre Larkin
Sensing June
& other poems
Savannah Grant
Saint
& other poems
Andrew Kuhn
Plains Weather
& other poems
Catherine Wald
Against Aubade
& other poems
Joe Couillard
Like New Houses Settling
& other poems
Faleeha Hassan
In Nights of War
& other poems
Olivia Dorsey Peacock
Thelma: ii
& other poems
Sarah Louise
Tremors
& other poems
Kimberly Russo
Inherent Injustice
& other poems
Frannie Deckas
Child for Sale
& other poems
Jacqueline Schaalje
Mouthings
& other poems
Nancy Rakoczy
Her Face
& other poems
Ashton Vaughn
Contrition
& other poems
Olivia Dorsey Peacock
Thelma
i.
for as long as I can remember
her dedication to morning routines was unparalleled
her silence
miffed
but blaring gospel music
warmly carried me out of bed
and down stairs
for sausage links or bacon
always with pancakes
and orange juice with pulp.
I loved to make her laugh.
And would
chase her around the house with a camera—
the game conceived from a fear
of permanently remaining
imperfect on film.
Watching game shows
confidently declaring the prices of
Clorox bleach
among other commodities.
Making fun of fancy ladies
while playing make up
in the mirror.
Her laughter announced
her presence in this life
from a stoic seat
in that dining room chair
or her scrunched up nod-off
spot on the TV couch.
I kept thinking
if I made her laugh
Grandma would have no reason
to fall asleep.
ii.
the sensual dance of crazed
delusion
glee within the
charred remains of a
spick-and-span
misfit
held against the restraints
of her own reality
binding her petite Black frame
to stiff, rollable one
’ll fix it
the wine’ll fix it
the second one’ll fix it
the pills’ll fix it
whispered
Fix it fix it fix it fix it fix it fix it fix it
is this why Bill traveled?
what did the voices tell her?
how long until it burned it all away?
innocent faces on glossy yearbook print
chuckled under a nice, retiring char
I tried to—
“be a good wife”
amid the voices.
iii.
pinot carried angel kisses in each sip
each stem a rung
bottle the wrong key
for a gate that wasn’t ready for her yet
I made an angel
did I need to make another
and try motherhood twice?
I had plenty
of practice
flying with the pillows
if I collapsed,
pressed my face
into the cushion
I could almost see
the
view from the clouds
kicking my heels, confetti to the lives below.
iv.
happiness was at the bottom
of an egg custard pie
where ferries sailed away
and to Beacon lights ice cream in hand
scuttling children leaping
thin brown bodies in thick coats on thick decks
to retreat to warm rooms
and sweets from father’s dirty quarry hands
mother at the oven´s edge
creasing lips into poised, anxious
unspoken passages and a voice into
a tickled clink.
v.
her favorite photograph
froze her in 1964
her senior picture
a bobbed haircut just
the right amount of frizz
arched horizons
to shield chocolate eyes
from dreams into the distance
(As a student I—
“studied business secretarial.”)
slightly aloof
shaken
of a blemish free promise
meant to fill in the blanks
(My ambition was—
“to become a secretary.”)
mouth barely open
as if the photographer
forgot one little thing—
flashing too fast to capture
smile’s full essence
(My Mother taught me to value—
)
but to her, it was perfection
punctuated with swift penmanship
Mother
with all my love
Thelma
Olivia Dorsey Peacock
is a techie from North Carolina who currently lives in Dallas, Texas, with her husband. By day, she helps doctors and academics make sense of health data and by night, she unravels genealogical mysteries. She has a Bachelors and a Masters in Information Science from UNC Chapel Hill. When she’s not writing poetry, she’s brainstorming ways to use technology for good instead of evil.