A YEAR AFTER THE CARPENTER AND AN NPR JOURNALIST HUDDLE BESIDE A WOOD-BURNING FIRE IN LVIV

by Ellen Sazzman

Bohdan Kulik served in the Soviet military in the early 1980s in Moscow. He's done a bunch of odd jobs over the years since, he says, but in essence, he's a carpenter. He loves to make staircases. Photo by Ryan Kellman. —NPR, March 17, 2022

1

“My true love is building staircases,” the carpenter explains.  

“You must understand the difficulties of crafting a staircase.   

First the wood must be stained. Next...” The journalist 

interrupts, asks if the carpenter is worried about the war.    

 

The carpenter mans a checkpoint. Without a gun but with a crate 

of Molotov cocktails. His job: to stop cars, look for saboteurs.  

He pulls out his phone and shows videos of Russian destruction 

farther east in Kharkiv and Mariupol.  

 

The journalist asks again if the carpenter is worried.  

The carpenter chops kindling, feeds the stove, puts a kettle on.  

He offers coffee, says he’s 62, a pensioner. The carpenter repeats 

the importance of what goes into making a staircase:  

 

collecting accurate measurements, calculating the slope, installing 

risers, treads, handrails. The carpenter pulls out his phone once more, 

shares photos of staircases he has built. The journalist compliments

the staircases:  “They’re beautiful, but about the war?”    

                                                                                                        

2

After one year, a long nightmare, try to 

imagine the beauty of staircases, 

the smell of coffee, the warmth of a stove.  

Not the blood of suffering. Not the bombing.  

Not the decision to stay put  

despite what staircases are made for—  

scaling, leaving, fleeing 

through fumes and smoke, through 

a fine ash that still invades Lviv from the East 

and shrouds all things with the salt 

of a terrible weeping before a mute god.  

Pray there is dust enough

to re-make wild birds and beasts, 

to re-form woman and man, to re-plant.

Ellen Sazzman is a Pushcart-nominated poet whose work has been recently published in Peregrine, Delmarva Review, Another Chicago Magazine, PANK, Connecticut River Review, Ekphrastic Review, Sow’s Ear, Lilith, Moment, Common Ground, and CALYX, among others. Her collection The Shomer was selected as a finalist for the 2020 Blue Lynx Prize and a semifinalist for the 2020 Elixir Antivenom Award and the 2019 Codhill Press Poetry Award.

POEM FOR A YEAR IN UKRAINE

by Shih-Min, Sun

 Ironing   stained glasses
   scruffy, growth of magnitude  soul   
         of every somber
     night  comes forth
     suspended on this land
                        flood of 
                                       living , gasping
                          corpses
 rise and walk : bend
            pick 
                                                                                                                              one shoe up
           fold : clothes / string / dirty nails   unbuckle
                    crusted toes with blood, frosted
                                                                                                                                            moon   black
                                                                                                                      eye of the city   inflamed
                     a year
                                                                                                                     with a year   icy mud   feathers plank
                                             perishable but closer   underneath
 
                                              *

                             When  
                                                                    forest call
                           on each step 
                                                              streaks
                                upon walls, walls 
              birds depart, river sink
                             to depth of the country, the land   all turn into: prayers and songs
 
                                                    the orchard 
                              of life
                      respirate   unceasing
                                                                                              glare   now: wide open

Shih-Min, Sun lives and writes in Taipei, Taiwan. Her work has appeared and will be presented in publications including, The Academy of the Heart and Mind, Dadakuku, Rural Fiction Magazine, Wordpeace and has been selected for Atlanta Review 2022 International Poetry Competition in Merit Award. She started writing while working abroad, inspired deeply by family, teachers, and friends. She loves writing as a way to interpret still life and scenes of bond through language. Visit her on Instagram: @aura_a_u_r_a

A YEAR'S LAST FLIGHT

by David Chorlton

The waking skies of summer

opened like a hand of cards spread daily

when the white sun rose

and a cloud held Heaven’s fire close

to Earth while all was golden light behind

Four Peaks.

                     Each day

broke into song against a stage set brightly

for the doves and mockingbirds and

flickers who arrived without

a campaign slogan or

a lie. Pigeons flocked together for safety

while hawks and candidates

hunted alone through dry heat

and monsoons. Anniversaries flew by

with months sliding

down a rainbow to

                                   disappear the way

time does when it has used up

its energy and wants to sleep the winter sleep

that follows an election when all

that’s left are losers crying foul

and birds lost in migration

showing up at the most unlikely

destinations. There is one late rain

turning to mist

                            on the south side

of a desert mountain. And hummingbirds

for whom each day is much the same as

the one before it. They are driven

by their unending appetites

and swear allegiance to the sugar

hanging from the sky.

David Chorlton is a longtime resident of Phoenix with great affection for the desert. His newest book is Poetry Mountain published by Cholla Needles Arts and Literary Library in Joshua Tree, CA. 

THE YEAR OF THE GREAT PAUSE

Six Haiku

by Geoffrey A. Landis

the great pause:

a year for learning patience:

streets are quiet

this is what matters:

you show your love with distance

alone, together

together, apart

attention to what matters:

distance shows your love

the space between us

shows our love:

a year of isolation

a year for introverts

ready to go out;

stay inside

a year for learning patience

year of distancing

find inner reserves

Geoffrey A. Landis is a poet, science-fiction writer and scientist. His poetry appears in places from ArtCrimes to The Year’s Best Fantasy, and he is the author of two poetry collections: Iron Angels from VanZeno Press and The Book of Whimsy from NightBallet. In his spare time, he fences épée, because he likes to stab strangers with a sword.

2020: ON STORIES, TIME, AND QUERIES

by Jen Schneider

Twenty-eight queries on a year in review. 2020 is nearly hindsight.

 

Q1. Which of the following words is least like the other? Most?

Story

Storied

Stall

Scared

 

Q2. Which of the following words is least like the other? Most?

Relative

Time

Relate

Test

Term

 

Q3. If I cry and no one sees, does my pain matter?

 

Q4. True or false: Not all stories have happy endings.

 

Q5. True or false: All stories deserve to be told.

 

Q6. True or false: All tears are wet.

 

Q7. Which of the following is a symptom of 2020? Choose all that apply.

Headache

Stomachache

Heartache

 

Q8. Define struggle. Define consolation.

How are the two similar? Different?

 

Q9. Which of the following email signatures does not belong?

Stay safe

Stay well

With best wishes

Regards

 

Q10. Which of the following words is most like the other? Least?

Pandemic

Pandemonium

Parade

Puppet

 

Q11. Which of the following is an appropriate 2020 holiday greeting?

With condolences

Season’s greetings

Almost there

The most ____ time of year

 

Q12. Which of the following is most likely to win product of the year?

Masks

Music

Memories

 

Q13. What types of puzzles are hardest to solve?

Puzzle of a thousand pieces

Puzzle of 365 days

Puzzle of 2020

Puzzle of 100,000 pieces

 

Q14. What type of loss can’t be recovered? What types can be?

 

Q15. As citizens, we’ve been told to be patient. Define patient.

 

Q15. Which of the following words is least like the others?

Patience

Patient

Patent

Pest

Plague

 

Q16. Define and explain the difference between 2 and 3 ply paper. 

 

Q17. Which of the following words is most closely associated with 2020? Least?

Toilet 

Tissue

Tear

Time

 

Q18. Which of the following doesn’t belong?

Bookshop

Bookstore

Book swap

Bookmark

 

Q19. Define relative.

 

Q20. Doctors caution arms ache post-vaccine. Why does no one caution against heart aches prior?

 

Q21. How can a virus with only three consonants travels all continents?

 

Q22. Which of the following words doesn’t belong?

Vaccine

Virus

Virulent

Verse

 

Q23. If friends tell me I look different on video, who has changed?

 

Q24. Which of the following words doesn’t belong?

Zoo

Zoom

Zine

Zipper

 

Q25. Define present. Are all presents gifts?

 

Q26. How does the future differ from the present?

 

Q27. Writers speak of the moment in time when strings of words go dead. Define that moment in time.

 

Q28. First thought, best thought. Ready. Set. Go. 

1.     An emotion associated with January 2020

2.     Noun that describes 2020

3.     Another word for truth

4.     The word that describes a deep wound

5.     Word that describes a sibling, parent, aunt, or cousin

6.     A mineral or element on the periodic table of elements

7.     Lyric—two words—from a favorite song

8.     An emotion associated with March 2020

9.     A cartoon character

10.  Antonym for past

 

On Past Truths

Even as a young girl, I knew not all stories have _1__ endings. 

Not all __2__ end well. Knew, also, that not all tales are __3__. 

Time heals some ___4___, but not all. Time, too, is ___5___. 

Eight comes both before and after nine. And not all relatives 

are as strong as __6__. 

 

On Crossroads

With a heart of __7__ and a sense of __8__, 

we rest our heads on sheets of dancing __9__. 

Nighttime falls on the __10__. 

 

Run. Hurry now. We can beat it if we try.

Race for cures, vaccines, and fresh air. 

Friends, too. Run. Hurry now. 

Try, we can beat it now. Hurry. Run.

Race for a reason to live.

 

 

On Futures

Define Future. Define Race. 

How are the two similar? Different?

 

1.     The color of your favorite ice cream

2.     A favorite pub entree

3.     The noise of your daily commute

4.     A carnival food

5.     An airplane snack food

6.     A destination reached only by air

7.     A destination reached only by sea

8.     First love. One word

9.     A word that describes when shoulders rub

10.  Something, someone, somewhere beloved.

Futures are the color of __1__, the flavor of __2__, and the sound of __3__.

Futures smell of __4__ and __5___. Futures tease of __6__.  Futures 

are __7__, __8__ and __9__. The future is __10__. Focus on the Future.

 

Hope

1.     Antonym for damaged

2.     An emotion associated with September 2020

3.     A wish for 2021

4.     An appropriate social distance (whole number only)

5.     Synonym for vaccine

6.     Number of consonants in COVID-19

7.     The color of 2020

8.     The smell of 2020

9.     Humpty Dumpty sat on _____. (Plural)

10.  Humpty Dumpty had great _____. (Plural)

11.  A word that rhymes with wall and fall.

 

Hope is wrapped of ___ and ___. Hope is ___ times ___.

Hope is found in ___ times ___. Hope is ___ and____.

Hope persists despite ____ and ___. ____, too. 

Hope is everywhere. 

Jen Schneider is an educator, attorney, and writer. She lives, writes, and works in small spaces throughout Philadelphia. Her work appears in The Popular Culture Studies Journal, unstamatic, Zingara Poetry Review, Streetlight Magazine, Chaleur Magazine, LSE Review of Books, and other literary and scholarly journals.