Guarding The Harbor / December 7^th, 1941  

by Ave Jeanne Ventresca


having no plans for the day, sleeping a bit longer seemed the appropriate thing to do.

through my window
only scattered to broken clouds cover skies above Pearl Harbor.

this long, white line of coast, rests in quiet meditation.

thoughts about the shark goddess Ka'ahupahau fill my dreams.

envisioned is a cave entrance where the goddess of protection lives, guarding this harbor from any intruders. now, from a crackling radio, voices stern and whipping

cut through the still morning like a scalpel, no, like a bullet,

loud and force threatening.   and i alter my plans for this day.


* * * * *

Ave Jeanne Ventresca (aka: ave jeanne) is the author of nine chapbooks of poetry that reflect social and environmental concerns. Her most recent collection, Noticing The Colors of Ordinary, was released in the summer of 2019. She edited the acclaimed literary magazine Black Bear Review, and served as publisher of Black Bear Publications for twenty years. Her award winning poetry (contemporary and Asian) has been widely published internationally within commercial and literary magazines, in print and online. Ave Jeanne was nominated for the Pushcart Prize for 2019.

Envying the Ability of Mittens

by Ave Jeanne Ventresca


woolen scarves and mittens sleep on the third shelf
of this old metal rack. they sit methodical,
arranged by size or perhaps by frequency
of use. december air floats through a crack
in the window and just now
discarded letters creep across these cold floors.
resisting urges to climb back under sheets,
warm and friendly, i follow curiosity
and listen to voice mail that has been neglected.
strangers, friends, perhaps voices of lovers.

i attempt to avoid losing my smile, breathe
in a mirror’s reflection and prepare for an arduous day
that weighs in front of me like the sound of hearts
that beat while at dance.  now i awaken the

scarf, beckon the door to let me pass
and head towards victoria station to begin my walk.
under a heavy sun, through crowded streets, i avoid

all eyes of strangers as my boots carry me onto
the eager train. an american offers me a seat,
and my nod offers gratitude,
honest and humble. back and forth voices bounce,
each with a different accent that touches
my ears with interest.  as another shiver arrives,
i wrap my coat around my achy legs,
open this weathered book
and read chapter nine, as not to waste time. yet my

thoughts jump back to the old metal rack at home,
with the scarves and mittens on the third shelf,
and i envy their ability to sleep warm and quiet
on this cold winter morning.


* * * * *

Ave Jeanne Ventresca (aka: ave jeanne) is the author of nine chapbooks of poetry that reflect social and environmental concerns. Her most recent collection, Noticing The Colors of Ordinary, was released in the summer of 2019. She edited the acclaimed literary magazine Black Bear Review, and served as publisher of Black Bear Publications for twenty years. Her award winning poetry (contemporary and Asian) has been widely published internationally within commercial and literary magazines, in print and online. Ave Jeanne was nominated for the Pushcart Prize for 2019.

 

Alternative Resume

by Eve Louise Makoff


Address:
Pale blue house, shutters
Love seat swing
Just lakeside
(One day)

Education:
One best friend. Silver waves over sand. Jewish camp. Self-consciousness.The odor of Manhattan. Virginia Woolf, Ernest Hemingway, Deborah Levy, Zorba the Greek. Edwidge Danticat. A summer in Mykonos. Yad Vashem. My eating disorder. Crushing Love. Breathing.

Work history/Volunteer work:
Passover dinners. Tennis matches. Mean girl(ed)(ing). Reading Ulysses. Watching life eek out of patients. Immersive Parenting. Saying no.
Breathing.

Activities/hobbies:
Tending book piles
Hunting words
Out-of-practice singing
Breathing.

Publications
Scribbled lunchbox love notes
Opaque texts
Some I regret in magazine pages
An amorphous but relevant memoir
(One day)

Personal statement
I follow rules but require passion. I request transcendence or pass me over.


* * * * *

Eve Louise Makoff is an internal medicine and palliative care physician and a writer.

 

The Tight Possible

by Pamela Nocerino
 
 
If I felt worthy
of the love
I offer others,
what would
tick, spin,
loosen, or cling?
The long songs 
of Sundays
and midnights
would hum 
in what key?
I drum 
evergreen needles
like jazz brushes
against the tight
possible
and try.


* * * * *

Pamela Nocerino is a ghostwriter and teacher who once helped build a giant troll in the Rocky Mountains. She enjoyed a brief career on stage in Denver until she needed health insurance. Then, she taught public school students for over 20 years and raised two inspiring people. Two of her short plays were selected for staged readings in Colorado and Georgia, and some of her poems were published Plum Tree Tavern, Splintered Disorder Press, Gyroscope Review, Third Estate Art's Quaranzine and Capsule Stories. Most recently, she had a short story selected for Jerry Jazz Musician. 

 

Some

by Pamela Nocerino


Women are back
to nothing again today
in a country far from me —
their personhood revoked 
like a license
because some turned away
 
And I am here
impaired by freedoms 
claimed by some
in proud lairs of personhood
where gender 
is but one offense
 
We are all
falling backwards
in the fight for 
the right 
to turn some
away


* * * * *

Pamela Nocerino is a ghostwriter and teacher who once helped build a giant troll in the Rocky Mountains. She enjoyed a brief career on stage in Denver until she needed health insurance. Then, she taught public school students for over 20 years and raised two inspiring people. Two of her short plays were selected for staged readings in Colorado and Georgia, and some of her poems were published Plum Tree Tavern, Splintered Disorder Press, Gyroscope Review, Third Estate Art's Quaranzine and Capsule Stories. Most recently, she had a short story selected for Jerry Jazz Musician. 

 

A Minor Event

by Pratibha Kelapure


Darkness lingered around the house when
the newborn’s first cry pierced the still of the night
when the midwife announced, “It’s a girl.”
overhead kerosene lamp swung a little
and the new mother clutched the cold bedpost
and moaned faintly, “girl!”
then the light was out

at dawn, grandfather knocked on the door
his regal gait and his weighty chest belied
his worn-out shoes and his empty pocket
cradling the baby in his callused hands
disappointment lain bare for mother to see
“girl!” that one word he said! “girl!”
tears of terror rose in mother’s eyes

one simple word! A slammed shut iron gate
a tight knot crawled up her chest
and curdled the milk in her bosom
in a wordless voice, she sang to the baby
a loving lullaby, a song of regret
the baby cried for her birthright denied
cried and cried in vain

until one day when she smiled
smiled and gurgled until
the grandfather’s heart warmed a little

a minor event—noticed by none
the momentous one
girl’s first bargain for love


* * * * *

Pratibha Kelapure is an Indian-American poet residing in California. Her poems appear in Choice Words: Writers on Abortion (Anthology, Haymarket Books, 2020), Entropy Magazine, Plath Poetry Project, miller's pond poetry, The Lake, Tab Journal (upcoming), Amethyst Review (upcoming), and many other literary magazines. She is the founding editor of The Literary Nest.

Power of Silence

by Dorah Achieng


When you are so mad,
And feel like crushing.
When you can’t hold on,
And want to scream it all.
When you feel so walked on,
And want to do the same.
When you feel you have been used,
And want to pay back.
When they have said enough about you,
And you want to confront them.
When you feel like you can’t stand them anymore,
And want to pay back.
Just maintain your silence.
Just keep off from all the noises.
Just take a step of faith and walk out.
You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone.
You don’t have to explain yourself to anyone.
Sometimes, it is better to just walk out in silence
Than to pay back.                                                                              
There is power in silence,
It communicates loudly,
What couldn’t be understood in your words.
Sometimes your absence,
Communicates what your presence couldn’t.


* * * * *

Dorah Achieng is an upcoming poet and a fictionist who is passionate about writing. As a little girl, she observed her dad always glued to his books and she would sit beside him. He would then give her a book to read as well and eventually, she grew a passion in reading and writing. Her manuscripts are yet to be published and is looking forward to publishing them soon.