At Dawn

by Susan Tepper

from Meditations on dear Petrov

Set in 19^th Century Russia during a time of war

The sky doesn’t see me. The wind passes through me on its way to somewhere. If I stop to smell spring blossoms they don’t relish my attentions. Why has it turned so, dear Petrov. This refusal to mark my footprint by an unyielding ground. Though spring is warmer than most. Wet. Of course you would not know. Leaving during the snows and yet to come back. All night I hear the guns. Awake and in dreams. The earth has turned its back. I struggle to understand. Wondering if at last I’ve perished. From my own will. The constant thinking. Fires burning lower than a smolder. There must be one single useful thing to leave behind. All feels permanent. The hard shell of my house. Once covering a beetle that crept out at dawn. The house too. I didn’t notice it had gone to sleep. All winter in preparation. Now with spring everything is down. What is the point of the awakening. Grey. Small bits of animal skin from death or mercy. Perhaps thrown away.

* * * * *

More about Susan Tepper and her widely published work can be found at www.susantepper.com.

Bad Luck

by Sara Backer

Like a finch at a feeder

fending off other birds,

the yellow muumuu woman

scrapes her lottery ticket

in front of its vending machine,

preventing interlopers

from scoring the jackpot

she thinks she will earn

by using up the bad luck

one ticket at a time.

* * * * *

"Bad Luck" is from Sara Backer's collection Such Luck (Flowstone Press, 2019).

This Glimpse

by Sara Backer

I never learn how to enter the egg beater

of two ropes swinging Double Dutch.

How to sit wearing a miniskirt.

How to sit next to strangers.

How to include myself when they decide

to go downtown for drinks.

How to drink.

How to talk about myself but not too much.

How to ask for a ride home.

But I know how to walk alone at night.

The snow is invisible except

under a streetlamp—bright tadpoles flying!

* * * * *

"This Glimpse" is from Sara Backer's collection Such Luck (Flowstone Press, 2019).

Weatherman

by Lainie Belcastro

He came into my life like a bolt of lightning, a storm full of thunder,

With a downpour of all the words I wanted to hear.

He instinctively knew I thrived in the sun,

So, he warmed me with his body and we became one.

But then, clouds appeared and like the wind his feelings scattered in so many directions,

Leaving me lost in the fog.

* * * * *

Lainie Belcastro is a published writer in many genres. Her poems have been published in the inspirational blogspot Writing In A Woman’s Voice and by Guardian Angel Publishing's creative E-zine magazine for children. Her worldwide children’s book, Harriet’s Heartbroken Heart, released by Guardian Angel Publishing, co-authored by her daughter, Nika, and illustrated by Jack Foster, is a healing book for children experiencing grief.  Another children’s book is contracted for a future release. Lainie's uplifting stories can be found in many of the motivational Chicken Soup for the Soul books.  She is co-creator of the trademarked Mrs. Terra Cotta Pots & Twig and the Patching Hearts wellness programs for children. As a guest speaker, she encourages her wide audiences to "see something beautiful every day!" Lainie holds many titles in the arts, but her most treasured title is mom! Visit her at www.lainiebelcastro.com.

It Is Cold

by Ann Christine Tabaka

It’s cold old man.

“Yes, I remember cold.”

Put on your coat old man.

“Yes, I used to have a coat.

it was green, such a lovely shade of green.”

Here is your coat, it is brown.

“No, not my coat.

My coat is green, like the color of her eyes.”

Whose eyes?

“My darling wife. Where is she? 

I have been waiting for her all day.”

Your wife is no longer with us.

“Where did she go?

She told me she would be here.”

Maybe she is outside.

We should go look.

Put on your coat, it is cold old man.

“Yes, I remember cold.”

* * * * *

“It Is Cold” was first published by TreeHouse Arts (November 2018).

Ann Christine Tabaka was nominated for the 2017 Pushcart Prize in Poetry, has been internationally published, and won poetry awards from numerous publications. She is the author of 9 poetry books. Christine lives in Delaware, USA. She loves gardening and cooking. Christine lives with her husband and two cats. Her most recent credits are: Burningword Literary Journal, The Write Connection, Ethos Literary Journal, North of Oxford, Pomona Valley Review, Page & Spine, West Texas Literary Review, The Hungry Chimera, Sheila-Na-Gig, Pangolin Review, Foliate Oak Review, Better Than Starbucks!, The Write Launch, The Stray Branch, The McKinley Review, Fourth & Sycamore. Website: https://annchristinetabaka.com/

WINTER POWER OUTAGE

by Mary K O'Melveny

Our driveway is filled with rhinestones.

A corona of ice so treacherous

that even squirrels are avoiding it.

One step off the stoop sends me back

inside our house where, moments before,

electricity had fizzled out.

Fortunately, it is still daylight.

A deceptive slant of sunshine

made luminescence look innocent,

passable. To shake off chill’s edges,

we burn a log made of coffee grounds

and cardboard. We seek its sparks.

Our frozen power lines snapped

with a slight nudge from a breeze

that might not have drawn notice

on a spring day. Modern comforts,

now vanished, hover like shadows.

One battery clock slowly ticks.

All else is quiet. Our cardinal

couple perch like royalty in

our wooden feeder. Gray doves wait

on nearby lilac branches, huddled

like tender novitiates at prayer.

A lone rainbow-filled icicle drips.

It occurs to us that quiet may last

well into evening. No one knows

when our washer will resume its

cycle or our radio hum back to life.

So we emigrate to our bedroom,

energized by cadenced heartbeats.

Winter Somnolence

by Lisa Fields

In the chill of morning torpor,

I warm to the sun’s

tenuous reach-

glittering fingers

uncurled                                                   

above

night’s cold surface

Too quickly past its zenith

I watch the darkness

seep into my seams

moving in dream time slowness

the sway of sycamore leaf

in wind’s lightest whisper-

firm to the branch,

leaf buds resting

until

the arc rises, high and long

to open the flow

from sluggish veins

and stir awake

the

somnolent cells

                 

12-20-18

* * * * *

Lisa Fields lives in Southwestern New Mexico. Writing poetry expresses her desire to be immersed in a state of balance. Her inspiration comes from the joy of wild places and the challenge to live happily in the domesticated world. She is a contract writer for Quirine Ketterings, Professor of Nutrient Management in Agricultural Systems, Cornell University, Ithaca, NY. In her home state of NY, Lisa served the farming community as an Extension educator for 10 years, and then worked for 10 years as a self-employed advisor.