SHADBLOW

by Arlene Weiner

We’d go down to the end of Dyckman Street
to watch the trains, Mom and Teddy and I.
We’d wave at the locomotives, and the engineers
would wave back. A little family.
 
In spring we saw shad nets in the Hudson River.
There’s a tree called “shadblow” because 
it bloomed when the shad were running,
early spring.
 
We lived in Manhattan, in an apartment.
Trees in the park, fish displayed on ice 
in the window of the fish store. 
 
Near my grandmother’s apartment house,
one magnificent magnolia covered itself
with bloom, white blushed pink, every spring.

Arlene Weiner grew up in New York City and has lived in Pittsburgh for decades. She has been a Shakespeare scholar, a den mother, a cardiology technician, and an editor. Her poems have appeared in a number of journals and anthologies, including The New Verse News. Ragged Sky Press published three collections of her poetry. The most recent is More (2022).

MOMENT

by Jennifer M Phillips

"I WILL PROTECT WOMEN AT A LEVEL NEVER SEEN BEFORE. THEY WILL FINALLY BE HEALTHY, HOPEFUL, SAFE, AND SECURE. THEIR LIVES WILL BE HAPPY, BEAUTIFUL, AND GREAT AGAIN!" —Trump on TruthSocial via Newsweek, September 21, 2024

You could surrender everything
hearing the mesmeric voice of the predator
saying, I will make you safe, will save you
from your body, from decisions between the imperfect,
from nebulous fear, from the unknown future, from your tired heart;
fluttering at the excitement of the sycophant carrying a big idea
of someone else's like a hydrogen balloon,
his tongue a blurted  flame, and suddenly
you long for detonations. Life's long patience
and quiet hands you shake off like your mother's
holding you back from the thrill of traffic,
the allure of the other side.

A much-published bi-national immigrant, gardener, Bonsai-grower, painter, Jennifer M Phillips has lived in five states, two countries, and now, with gratitude, in Wampanoag ancestral land on Cape Cod, Massachusetts. Her chapbooks: Sitting Safe In the Theatre of Electricity (i-blurb.com, 2020) and A Song of Ascents (Orchard Street Press, 2022), and Sailing To the Edges (Finishing Line Press, forthcoming 2025). Two of Phillips' poems were nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Her collection is Wrestling With the Angel (forthcoming, Wipf & Stock)

QUESTIONS WE ASK OURSELVES

by Rachel R. Baum

A Moorpark College professor was charged Thursday with involuntary manslaughter and battery in the death of a Jewish protester who authorities said died after a confrontation with pro-Palestinian demonstrators at a rally in Thousand Oaks, CA.

 

Questions we asked ourselves 
   in 1930s Germany and in 2020s America:

Should we remove the mezuzahs from our doors? 
oh but you can see the shadow, the shape
the ghost mezuzah, clear as any sign. any target
 
Should we take off our Star of David necklaces? 
Christians’ crosses gleam from their throats
our naked tender throats invite, incite violence
 
Should we avoid attending demonstrations?
where angry people meet to blame 
Zionists or Jews, no difference to them
 
Should we hide our opinions, our politics?
even safe rooms we know are not safe
no matter, speak out or stay quiet, we die anyway.

 
Rachel R. Baum, a Best of the Net nominated poet, has tried unsuccessfully to avoid writing poems about current events. She lives in upstate New York with her dog Tennyson.

A PALER BIRD

In Memory of Sinéad O’Connor

by Diane Elayne Dees

She searched for God,

she searched for self,

she searched for a safe place

to build a nest and nurture

the fragments of her soul. 

The Magdalene Laundries

tried to wash her clean;

she suffered alone,

slept with the dying,

and—though forced into silence—

her voice escaped the prison.

Her voice—the voice that sang 

like an angel, the voice that told 

the truth that no one wanted to hear—

could not be silenced.

Her nerves on fire, her joints

inflamed, her past injecting pain

into her flesh and bone every moment— 

she shaved her head, cast off husbands,

cast off criticism, searched harder for God,

lost her child, lost her hope.

She was the pain felt by thousands,

the truth ignored by millions,

the voice of the screaming unheard,

the voice that will never be silenced.

Diane Elayne Dees is the author of the chapbooks, Coronary Truth (Kelsay Books), The Last Time I Saw You (Finishing Line Press), and The Wild Parrots of Marigny (Querencia Press). Diane, who lives in Covington, Louisiana, also publishes Women Who Serve, a blog that delivers news and commentary on women’s professional tennis throughout the world.

WHEN MY GRANDSON LEARNS ABOUT JIMMY CARTER

by Jane Patten

But for a photo

Neither of you will remember

That day in front of Maranatha Baptist Church—

He, because he had held so many babies,

And you were one of many in 

Such a long and layered life. 

And you, because you were so new

That your life was in the moment.

But we others there rejoiced

How he reached out to hold you,

The aged hands against your soft ones,

His white hair in contrast to your brown,

His wide smile at your

Wide eyes.

 

You did not know then

How we traveled down the Georgia roads

Of open fields and flatter ground

Just to hear him teach 

And to shake his hand,

Or that that this elder holding you

Had made each numbered day

In a long life count—

Sage, peacemaker, 

Man of the earth,

Man of the people,

Who rolled up his sleeves

To work.

 

A little later, just a little later,

You will learn more about the man who

Showed the world how to live:

Use knowledge.

Have compassion.

Give.

Be present.

Be fair.

Have courage.

Care.

 

And with a photo we will begin:

There you are.

You’re with him.

After retiring and moving to Huntsville, Jane Patten decided to write about her adventures, including growing up in Delaware and her career as a teacher in rural Georgia. Her writings have been published in Out Loud HSV: A Year in Review anthologies, The New Verse News, and Reckon.

HOW MANY MORE?

by Laura Apol

I don’t start to cry until I see Hannah’s name and a quote from her
at 10:57 p.m. on the New York Times feed—which means at least 
this one’s alive, this last-semester student with the pink hair and the
big laugh, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath for hours, for
these hours of not-knowing. I keep looking at the same images: the
streets, the sidewalks, the doorways, the windows, the diagonals of
the museum turned blue and red, blue and red with lights from
ambulances-firetrucks-police. Every intersection closed, students
fleeing, huddling, wearing clothes they wear to class each day, and
I search the images, blurred by distance and dark, for faces I know.
The sounds of helicopters overhead are transferred through the
microphone of a reporter who seems at a loss loss loss for what to
say. Time and again this happens, beads on a broken rosary, but
this time it’s here—the place I’ve called home for twenty-five years.
These students are still children, and these are the buildings we’ve
met in, sidewalks we’ve walked, sometimes in celebration, sometimes 
in protest, sometimes in snow or rain, sometimes under star-bright 
skies, but never on a night like this. A colleague writes, Part of me 
is hoping that none of the deceased students were in my classes 
these past years. A selfish hope, indeed and while I’d like to disagree, 
she’s right. Of course it’s selfish; tell me, how can we not be selfish,
praying that the ones we love are safe—though no one’s safe—
knowing that each silence, each not-answering is someone’s 
student, someone’s roommate, someone’s best friend, someone’s
child. How many more?

Author’s note: This poem was written in response to the first message that appeared on the MSU Rock and before the names of the students who were killed (Arielle Anderson, Brian Fraser, Alexandria Verner) had been released.

Laura Apol is a faculty member at Michigan State University, where she teaches poetry, literature and women's studies. From 2019-2021 she served as the Lansing-area poet laureate. 

LEGAL AND SAFE IN DULUTH MN

by Jess Morgan

DULUTH, Minn. (AP) — On the top floor of a modest two-story brick building near the shore of Lake Superior, the executive director of northern Minnesota’s only abortion clinic flits from room to room, checking in patients, fielding phone calls from people seeking appointments and handling billing questions from those struggling to pay. In the waiting room at WE Health Clinic in Duluth, patients from Wisconsin and Texas sit among Minnesotans — the leading edge of an expected uptick in out-of-state patients following the Supreme Court’s removal of the federal right to abortion. Photo: A clinic escort outside WE Health Clinic in Duluth, Minn., awaits the arrival of patients, Thursday, July 7, 2022. The clinic escorts protect patients from protesters as they approach and enter the clinic. (AP Photo/Derek Montgomery)

We mosh to punk in a shower of bubbles

and beer at house shows on Saturday

in my city where abortion is legal and safe.

Decked out in tin foil and wearing fish heads,

we flail and wail in the annual Smelt Parade

in my city where abortion is legal and safe.

Our earrings are handmade, we drink coffee

brewed downtown and our music is Homegrown

in my city where abortion is legal and safe.

An underground art collective hauls a piano

onto Lake Superior for improvisation opera

in my city where abortion is legal and safe.

We plow out each other’s cars in negative

thirty-degree temperature snow storms

in my city where abortion is legal and safe.

Our lake is as big as the sea. She is grounding,

healing and as comforting as living 

within a city where abortion is legal and safe.

Pro-choice protestors sing the child I babysit 

happy birthday and feed him cupcakes

in my city where abortion is legal and safe.

Indigenous land protectors chant and bring 

their drums when we rally for choice

in my city where abortion is legal and safe.

A surprising amount of us are queer or trans,

and my non-binary heart feels right at home

in my city where abortion is legal and safe.

I’d like to own goats on the outskirts of town,

and will only raise a family or give birth

in a city where abortion is legal and safe.

My co-workers and I work together to provide

patients with gender-affirming healthcare

in my city’s clinic where abortion is legal and safe.

Patients kiss my hand after a suction abortion,

thanking me for holding theirs during their procedure

in my city’s clinic where abortion is legal and safe.

Too many Duluthians make a poverty wage and rent 

isn’t cheap in my city where abortion is legal and safe.

And each day we must keep fighting for the culture,

clinic and city where abortion is legal and safe.

Jess Morgan is a nonbinary poet in Duluth, Minnesota where they juggle many hats. Their jobs include (but are not limited to) working as a wedding DJ, sound technician, patient educator for abortion services at WE Health clinic, hobby photographer, and occasional goat-sitter. They are a fiscal year 2022 recipient of a Creative Support for Individuals grant from the Minnesota State Arts Board. Poems they've written have been included (or are soon to be included) in The Nemadji Review, Prøve Art Gallery's Zine titled Emerge, and the Wisconsin Review. Jess shares a Tik Tok account with their partner called @ColdLakeHotPoets to capture their poetry adventures around Duluth.

I AM DRAWING A MAP

by Howard Winn

the little boy said

as he hunched over

his crumpled bit of

paper with the stub

of pencil clutched in

one dirty little hand

of the street he added

so I will know where

all my friends and

enemies live and then

I will know where

it is safe to go and 

where not to go

for there are good guys

and bad ones my mother

says mothers know

she says and my father

agrees and i wonder

how they learned to

tell the good from the bad

A new collection of Howard Winn's poetry has just been published. It is titled Comedy and other observations. Howard Winn continues as Professor of English SUNY.

MARKS OF WOE

by George Salamon

William Blake's "London."

In the reign of a pandemic

We turn our back on other

Calamities, close our eyes,

Barricade ourselves in safe

Spaces. Above in the ozone

Clouds simulate a scornful smile.  

George Salamon has recently contributed to The Asses of Parnassus, One Sentence Poems, Dissident Voice, and The New Verse News from St. Louis, MO.

KEEP

by Janet Shainheit

We keep our eyes peeled, our chins up, our fingers crossed. Feet
planted firmly on the ground.  We keep our heads.  Keep noses
to their respective grindstones.

We earn our keep.  Keep it safe.  Keep body and soul together.
Keep busy.  Keep up the pace.  Try to keep ourselves and those we
love from harm.  We keep at it.  Keep going.
Keep our upper lips stiff.
Keep on truckin’.

We keep secrets, memories, friends.  We keep in touch.
Keep watch on the world, up with the news.  Keep tabs on
what’s what and who’s who.
Keep score.

We keep our word.  We keep strong in troubled seas.
We struggle to keep the flame of truth
on an altar of honor.


Janet Shainheit lives and writes in Worcester, MA. She is a happily retired school librarian, and the grateful friend of poetry and poets.