Poetry Summer 2022 fiction all issues
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Joanne Monte
Departure
& other poems
Holly York
Still When I Reach for the Leash
& other poems
Anne Marie Wells
Catholicism Still Lingers in a Concrete Poem
& other poems
D.T. Christensen
Coded Language
& other poems
Laura Faith
Ungodly
& other poems
Abigail F. Taylor
Winter in Choctaw
& other poems
Natalie LaFrance-Slack
Peace
& other poems
Nicole Sellino
iii. moving, an interruption
& other poems
Gilaine Fiezmont
In Memoriam / Day of the Dead
& other poems
Sheri Flowers Anderson
On Being A Widow
& other poems
RJ Gryder
Felling
& other poems
William S. Barnes
to hatch
& other poems
Suzannah Van Gelder
Idolatry
& other poems
Sam Bible-Sullivan
The Dying Worker’s Soliloquy
& other poems
Hills Snyder
Eclipse (July 4, 2020)
& other poems
Lauren Fulton
Birth Marks
& other poems
David Sloan
Prostrate
& other poems
Nancy Kangas
Dry Dock Cranes of Brooklyn Navy Yard
& other poems
Noreen Graf
In Attendance
& other poems
Jim Bohen
Nothing Tea
& other poems
Thomas Baranski
Let us name him dread and look forward
& other poems
Nicole Sellino
i. Painting
Painting is not always a product
of expensive paint and temperate bristles
and talent and expertise
sometimes, it comes from the gravity
the weight of the paint on the brush propelling it forward
the wind that comes at the precise moment you need it to
the accidental flick of the wrist
the unannounced water droplet
the pigment of imagination
painting is not always a product
sometimes it is a circumstance
ii. Baltimore
These cobble stones tell secrets
if you listen very carefully
they rumble at you about the horses that
galloped on their surface
the brick stones tell stories
late at night when no one is listening
they remind you of long ago fires
and misshapen nails being hammered in
the water is here
the same water that Frederick Douglass worked along
the same water that houses male ducks and their mistresses, souls, sailboats, and the wheel
the same water that welcomed ships home in 1853
The Domino Sugar factory’s sweetness
that is indeed plumes of white smoke
lies as a beacon of a lighthouse
And endless twinkle lights in the dark blue night
swinging this way and that from one window pane to another
across the narrow streets, swooping like a lady’s fine pearls
illuminating the stoops, the rats, the little free public libraries
the ancient pathway of Edgar Allan Poe shining in their brightness
Baltimore is crabs, craft beer and baseball games
Baltimore is quiet and loud and new and monotonous all at once
A good monotonous, the kind that is your daily routine
The monotony you don’t want to end fueled by articulated lattes
Baltimore is Orange and Purple doors
and sirens, fresh air and ice cream
it is small, yellow, wooden salt boxes on every corner
Baltimore is a charm that belongs on every bracelet
a giant city rolled into one neighborhood
etched in every memory
of our collective unconscious
it will tell you stories
if you listen to it
iii. moving, an interruption
is it the physical location
or the transitory period that’s the hardest?
a house looks different
based on who isn’t in it anymore
an empty counter sans coffee pot, a quiet TV, a missing laugh
where are my tweezers?
it’s funny how it’s not about the gifts at Christmas
give me a banana wrapped in shiny paper, i told my mom
it doesn’t matter what’s inside anymore
just being together is enough
my stuff is packed in boxes
did i pack my toothbrush?
when there’s a different vantage point
you learn to be resourceful
you really only need one plate and one set of silverware to get by
you learn to tough out the tough times
surrounded by cardboard boxes and packing tape
where are the house keys?
and with those times, your hands get rough and your lips get chapped
and the bags under your eyes carry all of your emotions and belongings that your suitcase can’t fit
was selling the blender supposed to feel like selling your soul?
it’s just a blender, i told myself
a blender
but it wasn’t just a blender
it wasn’t just a set of margarita glasses
it was not simply a forgotten lamp
and it was never just a set of French bulldog salt and pepper shakers
these items did things
they held things
they supported things
they were things
you know?
Nicole Sellino
, a current resident of Jersey City, NJ, credits Long Island, Baltimore, and the Pocono mountains for her gravitation towards nature, animals, and all things fresh air. When she’s not painting, writing poetry in the margins of any flat surface, and admiring her rock collection, she can be found eating key lime pie and enjoying the sunsets—even the gray cloudy ones.