Two mothers all alone in a sandbox

by Sandy Rochelle

We sit together—unidentified allies—two mothers in a sandbox.

She with a child missing arms and me with you.

Different in your own way.

We understand each other she and I

but we speak only of inconsequential things.

Trying to mislead God into believing

that we no longer mind.

We are cast away alone.

Away from the chosen.

Silently becoming children ourselves.

Listeners of the wind.

Friends of no one.

Sitting silently in a circle sifting sand.

Survivors in an undeclared war.

* * * * *

Sandy Rochelle is a poet-actress and filmmaker. Individual publications include: Moon Shadow Sanctuary Press/ Formidable Woman, Connecticut River Review, West Wind Review, Spirit in the Words, and Tuck Magazine. Her book of poetry, Soul Poems, was published by Finishing Line Press. Sandy is the recipient of the Autism Society of America's Literary Achievement Award. She has the honor of being named, New York State, ''Mother of the Year.'' Website:  http://sandyrochelle.com

The Calm Blue

by Leticia Rodriguez

Being young is a state of mind.

Age is just a number if you don't mind.

I learned long ago and I made up my mind

to ever hold true to my values, beliefs,

and even my morals, and it's a good thing

because the hands of time I cannot rewind.

It may seem in this vida that I have lived

wrong and maybe even hard and some

looking in on my life, they may be sad,

and some even mad,

but trust me, it wasn't that bad.

I've learned so much and shared much

of my sorrows.

In doing so I've helped many young and old

feel better about tomorrow.

So take heed in what I say

because life isn't ours, it is only borrowed.

I'm a strong, intelligent, resilient, determined

and, yes, even stubborn woman.

My life has made me hard,

yet I'm soft as the clouds I face,

my gente, and I'm oh so proud.

What it means to be a woman

by Rosalie M. Acosta

We are nurturing and sensitive but strong

in certain ways that men can't compare to.

We have come a long way from how things

used to be. We can do the things that

we were told we couldn't do. We are now

treated equally.

The Night Without a Weapon

by Carolyn Adams

I turn out the light, turn

a shoulder to the darkness,

and wonder what will come.

A beast, a man,

a woman, a vehicle, a building?

And who will be driving?

Who, turning the page?

Silent air flows over the bed,

soft rain taps a finger

on the window.

A clock ticks

in another room.

Appliances hum on

and off in the kitchen.

I rehearse the day,

count errors, try to remember

the happy remark

of a friend, their loving touch,

the angle of the sun

in the late afternoon.

Tomorrow’s planes

stretch to all the angles

of the room, and I

drift. Awake at 10pm,

1am, 3am, I fluff the pillow,

adjust the cover, close my

eyes. And then it’s daylight.

Nothing happened. Nothing

came for me. Nothing

taught me a new lesson

in a fun-house classroom,

with a soft-eyed mammal

for a teacher.

* * * * *

Carolyn Adams’ poetry and art have appeared in Beatnik Cowboy, Willawaw Journal, Glass Mountain, San Pedro River Review, and Common Ground Review, among others. She has been nominated for a Pushcart prize, as well as for Best of the Net, and was a finalist for 2013 Poet Laureate of the city of Houston, TX. She is currently an associate editor for Mojave River Review. Having relocated from Houston, she now lives in Beaverton, OR. 

The Shoe Dream

by Carolyn Adams

Aunt Betty tells me shoe stores make her angry. 

She hates the brittle sheen

of the leathers and plastics

just visible under the split lids

of the colored paper boxes.

Lifting each shoe, she has me

put them under the seats,

on shelves where they don’t go,

in the wrong boxes.

The air is heavy

with the stink of chemicals

and preservatives,

cheap perfume and sweat.

Customers wander in

and out of the store,

taking hammers to the broad

windows, prying up the check-out

stand, scattering

the store’s profits.

Aunt Betty throws her car keys

on the kitchen table.

Kicks off the pumps Uncle Ed

bought her the day before the night

he left.

* * * * *

Carolyn Adams’ poetry and art have appeared in Beatnik Cowboy, Willawaw Journal, Glass Mountain, San Pedro River Review, and Common Ground Review, among others. She has been nominated for a Pushcart prize, as well as for Best of the Net, and was a finalist for 2013 Poet Laureate of the city of Houston, TX. She is currently an associate editor for Mojave River Review. Having relocated from Houston, she now lives in Beaverton, OR. 

Review of An Apple In Her Hand

New Anthology of Women’s Writing From Codhill Press Wins Praise

An Apple In Her Hand, an anthology of stories, poems and memoir just released by New York’s Codhill Press, has garnered praise for its truth-telling by women writers on a wide-range of themes, including remembrance, aging, visibility, bearing witness and joy. 

Best-selling author Carol Goodman (Lake of Dead Languages; The Widow’s House) lauds the “penetrating gaze” of the members of The Hudson Valley Women’s Writing Group whose works fill its pages:  “What a delight to read these women as they make magic out of the ordinary,” says Goodman, describing how the authors “turn[] apples into witches (“The Kitchen Witch,” Kit Goldpaugh) and housewives at Loehmann’s into Greek goddesses (“I Met My Mother’s Body at Loehmann’s,” Jan Zlotnik Schmidt); evoke the lost worlds of trolleys (“My Real Mother,” Colleen Geraghty) and Homeric Greece (“Speckled Egg,” Tana Miller); call forth the elemental forces of geysers (“Yellowstone Hot Springs,” Eileen Howard) and the faithful mating habits of bald eagles (“Love Nest,” Mary K O’Melveny); and celebrate the stubborn resistance of staying alive  (“Death’s Door,” Kappa Waugh). ”

The anthology, crafted in bits and pieces of diverse artistry that are profound, humorous and elegant, is the work of  seven writers “of a certain age” speaking out boldly against a culture that often renders such women’s voices irrelevant or invisible. The writing group’s members include teachers and academics, a lawyer, a social worker and a psychiatric nurse. Some are retired; others still work; all are activists, artists and volunteers. This “memorable collection of stories, poems and truth,” says poet and teacher Esther Cohen, is “honest, serious, seasoned and articulate” and “will make their readers happy.” 

These writings by “wisdom women” cover a wide range of topics, all focused on “bear[ing] witness to the power of knowing,” notes Kate Hymes, poet and Director of New York’s Walkill Valley Writers. The authors do so “even when it might have been easier to remain ignorant, or, as some might say innocent.” You will find yourself turning again and again to these articulate voices and smiling broadly at the magic contained and the knowledge imparted on every page of An Apple In Her Hand. (Available from Codhill Press – www.codhill.com).


* * * * *

Submitted by Mary K O'Melveny

Here Take my Eggs

by Alethea Eason

My eggs are gossamer pearls still waiting in a nearby stream.

Under the veil, my eggs would have held round pools of liquid

with protein and definitive galaxies all their own.

I open myself and dream the infinite night.

I’ve been waiting because mist and wind’s home is the earth’s.

Gulls break over the crest.

They are moving, wings up with raucous cries.

My eggs float in this mystery, each still aware.

Each with their neutral shine. Each a copper penny

floating to the perilous depths.

Death’s at the door, and he’s dressed to kill.

He’s even brought the flowers I have been waiting for.

Here take my eggs. Each one that is left, and take dictation.

They all have stories of their journey. And maps of their history.

Marry my eggs as you would me in the dark grass,

with all the dangers of jungle growth. Find the pearly stream

hidden away and whisper your words there.

* * * * *

"Here Take My Eggs" was first published in Black Elephant.

Alethea Eason is the author of three novels, Hungry, Starved, and Heron's Path. Her poetry, short stories and essays have appeared in www.delsolreview.com, Lamplight Magazine, The Fictional Cafe, The Episcopal Cafe, the anthology The Kindness of Strangers, and ironsoap.com, among other journals, websites, and magazines. She was an educator in California and Chile, and has offered classes called Renew Your Muse dealing with intuitive, creative and spiritual expression, especially for those who feel art does not live inside of them. It does!