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From Let The Wind Push Us Across by Jane Schapiro

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Tent

Sometimes in the morning,

before opening my eyes,

I dream of our tent,

that tiny green dome.

From behind its walls

thin as skin, I hear birds,

leaves, a brush of wind.

I yearn for that waking,

that once tethered dawn when

unzipping the door

I leaned into the world.

jane_s

Jane Schapiro is the author of a volume of poetry, Tapping This Stone (Washington Writers’ Publishing House, 1995) and the nonfiction book, Inside a Class Action: The Holocaust and the Swiss Banks (University of Wisconsin, 2003), selected for the Notable Trials Library. Her chapbook Mrs. Cave’s House won the 2012 Sow’s Ear Poetry Chapbook competition. Her essays and poems have appeared in publications such as the American Book Review, The American Scholar, Prairie Schooner, The Southern Review, The Sun, and Yankee among others.

http://www.janeschapiro.com/

Photo by Shin-ichi Kumanomido.

I Want to Write About the N-Word by Alina Stefanescu

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I want to write about nipples even though

no word is safe I write about nipples

because they make me uncomfortable

and the things I cannot touch

with my eyes look good in black ink.

Because black ink is a private part

I can hide behind a white wall and ask

why our nipples turn dark and moody while nursing

and all nipples turn the same shade of brown

but not blushing under exposure as if

color changes the social cue

unembarrassed and maybe fuck you.

I want to know why nipples feel foreign

thus darkened and why it’s dangerous.

I want to admit I’ve never seen the nipples

of a black nursing mother and my world

stays smaller as a result    as a world without

color is a world without changes in nipples

so I speak about nipples for part of the planet

while all other sisters’ nipples remain

obscured from me. Other nipples.

I don’t want to Other nipples. I want

to acknowledge that nursing alters nipples,

the pink/tan/pert learns to undulate

whorls beyond the realm of seashells,

inexplicable curls and I want to write

about nipples like it’s natural

because nipples are natural and I am so much

socialization conditioned to fear the change

in body parts. To cover what grows un-young.

I’m sick and tired seeing the disproportionate appearance of

Anglo/American nipples at the expense of everyotherwoman.

We are sum-one. And yet—I cannot write about nipples because

no other flesh is cut from the same cloth. I can NOT

because they are different but I want to because

they are my mother’s. And I am my mother’s

daughter plus everyotherlivinggirlnipple

writing the shit we shouldn’t say.

 

Alina Stefanescu is the author of “Objects In Vases” (Anchor & Plume, 2016). She was born in Romania and lives in Alabama with her partner and four small mammals. Her flash fiction, “White Tennis Shoes”, won the 2015 Ryan R. Gibbs Fiction Award. Her poem, “Oscar Dees, No Apologetics Please,” from the chapbook Objects in Vases, was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. You can read her syllables in current issues of PoemMemoirStory, Tinge Magazine, Jellyfish Review, The Zodiac Review, Parcel, Change Seven, and others. More online at www.alinastefanescu.com.

James Hampton, The Throne of the Third Heaven of the Nations Millennium General Assembly (ca. 1950–1964) by Pamela Murray Winters

Tossing away sandwiches,

chewing gum, cigarettes,

he made his heaven from wrappers,

commerce’s carapace. Who would discard

the meat of the thing: shake out

the book and bow to

the empty jacket, feed on

Baggies and shells, expect

twenty-four blue robes to rise

and offer a requiem? Recall, then,

that this temple of trash was made

in a garage: a heavenly vehicle,

we, entering, fuel.

winters

Pamela Murray Winters has had work published in the Gettysburg Review, Gargoyle, Beltway Poetry, and numerous other publications. She received an MFA in poetry from Vermont College in Fine Arts in 2015 and is presently gainfully unemployed. A native of Takoma Park, Maryland, Pam lives by the Chesapeake Bay, hates seafood, and doesn’t swim.

James Hampton, The Throne of the Third Heaven of the Nations Millennium General Assembly (ca. 1950–1964) by Pamela Murray Winters

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Tossing away sandwiches,

chewing gum, cigarettes,

he made his heaven from wrappers,

commerce’s carapace. Who would discard

the meat of the thing: shake out

the book and bow to

the empty jacket, feed on

Baggies and shells, expect

twenty-four blue robes to rise

and offer a requiem? Recall, then,

that this temple of trash was made

in a garage: a heavenly vehicle,

we, entering, fuel.

 

Pamela Murray Winters has had work published in the Gettysburg Review, Gargoyle, Beltway Poetry, and numerous other publications. She received an MFA in poetry from Vermont College in Fine Arts in 2015 and is presently gainfully unemployed. A native of Takoma Park, Maryland, Pam lives by the Chesapeake Bay, hates seafood, and doesn’t swim.

 

On Leave by Shari Jo LeKane-Yentumi

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Only whiskey burns the sorrow as she grieves.

Purple velvet once surrounded golden dreams.

Both a season and a reason left on leave.

Now a memory left blank before what seems

perfect chaos, called to order by the reaper.

Purple velvet once surrounded golden dreams.

By the dozen, once recall a time, were cheaper.

Less than most, they were swept away by fools.

Perfect chaos called to order by the reaper.

At the onset there were definitely rules,

most indifferent to meaningless attraction.

Less than most, they were swept away by fools.

Enter fate, interceding with reaction;

fate, all-knowing, even to the fatal blow,

most indifferent to meaningless attraction.

Left unnoticed, delivering a mighty show,

fate all-knowing, even to the fatal blow.

Only whiskey burns the sorrow as she grieves,

both a season and a reason left on leave.

 

Originally published in the Iconoclast literary magazine in June 2016.

 

shari-joShari Jo LeKane-Yentumi lives with her family in St. Louis, Missouri, where she writes poetry and prose. She consults, teaches creative writing to men in a maximum security jail, and works for civil rights attorneys. Shari attained a B.A. in English and Spanish and an M.A. in Spanish from Saint Louis University in Madrid, Spain and St. Louis, Missouri. She wrote a novel in verse, Poem to Follow, and her first book of poetry, Fall Tenderly. Many of her poems have appeared in multiple poetry anthologies and literary magazines worldwide. Shari considers herself a modern formalist, addressing contemporary issues in poetic verse with a stylized language.

Image: By Phil Long from Manchester, United Kingdom – Whisky, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=50291942