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
Catherine Wald
Against Aubade
Tonight ensconced in your firm fragrant arms,
As tender as new bride and blushing groom,
Tight swaddled, warm, as in the rounded womb,
Let’s hold each other close and bless our stars.
Protected from dark morning’s dawning gloom
And day’s insistent, breast-beating demands,
We think, not with our brains, but with our hands—
Two shuttles, back and forth, across a loom.
Redeemed, replete, released from tales and lies,
Misunderstandings, quarrels and remorse,
Inevitable failures of discourse,
In silence finally our tongues grow wise.
Bedazzled by kind nighttime’s sweet deceits
We dread the dawn’s unraveling defeat.
Birthday Lunch
What I wanted to say was, you’re still the most beautiful
woman in the world. It’s kind of nice to see you.
I’ve been dreading this all week.
What I wanted to say was, I refuse to dredge any more
lakes for your dead bodies. I don’t have the credentials to
absolve you. If it’s my birthday, how come you get all the goodies?
What I wanted to say was, I love the way you laugh at my jokes.
There is so much about me you’ll never know.
Why do you have to be the gift that keeps on taking?
It kills me that I still love you—another thing I didn’t mention.
What I wanted to say was, you birthed me, but I created myself.
What I wanted to say will always stand
between us.
Death and the Rainbow
We began our flight with
gaily colored globules—
all the bubble gum a
five-year-old could
possibly
chew.
We touched down in a kind of
Oz where oranges grew on
trees instead of in plastic
netted bags from the
supermarket.
Fairy-tale Florida!
Sun shone, palms shimmered,
clean-smelling aqua
splash pools punctuated
every lawn. Houses
wore tropical shades that
made my mother’s red
lipstick look almost
sad.
I do recall an ambulance.
I saw men carry my grandpa
away on a stretcher.
He was sick, which is much
easier to understand
than dead.
But what I remember best was
the rainbow, my first. When my
mother parted the curtains, pointed
at what until that moment had
been myth, I knew something
important had happened.
Journal Entry
She keeps her old journals
in her old bedroom
in plain view.
How I envy her!
She assumes
as I once assumed
a daughter’s trust
isn’t temporal
like anesthesia.
Her heart’s chambers
haven’t been slit or
scrutinized by
maternal surgeons.
Structurally sound
she stands firm
inviolable.
I love to see,
I love to watch,
the light flash in
her eyes.
Catherine Wald
is an author, journalist, translator and teacher based in Manhattan. Her chapbook, Distant, burned-out stars, was published in 2011 (Finishing Line). Poems appeared in American Journal of Nursing, Deronda Review, Gravel, Minerva Rising, J Journal, The Lyric, The New York Times, Quarterday Review, Westchester Review and others.