Becoming Silent at Thirteen

by Luanne Castle


From the dock, we dragged
our feet through the brown water,
catching our toes on minnows
or marsh grass.
Our long straight hair blew across our faces,
hooking slyly in our opened mouths.

The high school boys from across the lake
curved their big motorboat
in front of us, deluging us with waves.
When the sun balanced on the tree tops
above the houses of the boys,
we went in to set my mother’s table.

After dark we paddled
the rowboat out to the third lake
where the spiky weeds poking out
scared away boaters and house builders.
We followed the crescent moon
and threw anchor under the stars.

Our voices carried over the gently
breathing lake, but
we didn’t care, believing
the lake swallowed the secrets
hidden between our words, dragging
them down to swamp bottom.

From somewhere we thought we heard
a speedboat chopping fast,
and thought of the bare-chested boys
out there somewhere, churning the surfaces
of the first and second lakes in vain
while we listened now in silence.


* * * * *

"Becoming Silent at Thirteen" was originally published in NIghtingale & Sparrow.

Luanne Castle’s award-winning full-length poetry collections are Rooted and Winged (Finishing Line 2022) and Doll God (Kelsay 2015). Her chapbooks are Our Wolves (Alien Buddha 2023) and Kin Types (Finishing Line 2017), a finalist for the Eric Hoffer Award. Luanne’s Pushcart and Best of the Net-nominated poetry and prose have appeared or are forthcoming in The Dribble Drabble Review, Copper Nickel, Pleiades, River Teeth, Verse Daily, and other journals. 

 

CIRCLES

by Stellasue Lee


Bob says, “Stellasue,” and I say, Hi Bob,
he says, “I like that piece you read tonight.”
Thanks guy, I say, but truth is
all these poems I’m writing about the abuse from my childhood,
well, they’ve started me to think, and I’m reminded
of when I was teaching tennis in Europe¾
I played the European Tennis Circuit in ‘70,
and every chance I got I’d go to an American Army base
and offer tennis lessons to the men, or children, if there were any.
One day it dawns on me
that some people are afraid of getting hit by the ball.
Bob nods his head and I see he understands,
so I tell him, I’d make a point of hitting them¾
I say, I’d pick a place on their arm or thigh,
and hit them with the ball.
Bob looks stunned to think I’d do such a thing.
I tell him, I would run over and ask if they were hurt. 
You know, I say, they would be horrified.
I’d ask them to draw a circle around the spot
where the ball made contact.
By then, some of the shock had worn off,
and feeling a bit foolish, they’d draw a circle.
I’d ask them, on a scale of one to ten, ten being worse,
how much did it hurt?
They would be laughing by then and say it really didn’t hurt.
I’d tell them the reason they were having difficulty returning the ball
more than two or three times, is their fear of getting hit. 
Bob, I say, that’s what I’m doing by writing all this stuff,
cause I have to tell ya, I’m running out of abusive situations
to write about, and I feel like I’ve drawn a few circles;
I’m surprised too, I haven’t been hurt as much as I thought.
Bob stands there in his big frame, nodding and looking wise,
and when he speaks his voice is so quiet,
I strain to hear, “Ah yes,” he says, “we all have circles to draw.”       


* * * * *

Stellasue Lee was a founding editor of Rattle, a poetry journal, and is now editor Emerita. Two of her books have been entrants for the Pulitzer Prize, Firecracker Red, and Crossing The Double Yellow Line. Her New & Selected Poems, Queen of Jacks, is now available. Dr. Lee was winner of the grand prize of Poetry to Aide Humanity in 2013 by Al Falah in Malaysia. She now teaches privately. Dr. Lee received her Ph.D. from Honolulu University. She was born in the year of the dragon.

When Nothing Is Left

for Virginia Woolf

by Rose Mary Boehm


Those first times they would
on occasion run into each other
feeling something.
Substance.

She’d noticed it one summer
night. The moon had penetrated
her own reflection
in the large sliding doors.

After that, her husband
would frequently reach through
her for the drink
she had placed
on the mantel.

Gradually he also lost density.
The house filled with mirrors
confirming
their essential natures.

One Wednesday morning
as he wished her good morning,
she grabbed his reflection,
walked out through the garden door

and drifted towards the river,
picking up stones
on the way.


* * * * *

"When Nothing Is Left" was first published in Rose Mary Boehm's poetry collection The Rain Girl (Chaffinch Press, 2020).

Rose Mary Boehm is a German-born British national living and writing in Lima, Peru, and author of two novels as well as seven poetry collections. Her poetry has been published widely in mostly US poetry reviews (online and print). She was twice nominated for a Pushcart. Her latest: Do Oceans Have Underwater Borders? (Kelsay Books, July 2022), Whistling in the Dark (Cyberwit, July 2022), and Saudade (Kelsay Books, December 2022) are available on Amazon. https://www.rose-mary-boehm-poet.com/

 

About Ownership

by Rose Mary Boehm


Even her dolls were
on loan from a cousin.

The flat was rented and
soon would be a hole in the ground,
the ever-changing
geography of her existence.

Trains, planes, hotels and
badlands of circumstance.
She survived.

The house owned by the bank.
Husbands coming and going.

Then she fell into the eye
of the tornado. Stunned.
Her children claimed her.
And they would own her
as long as she could breathe.


* * * * *

"About Ownership" was first published in Rose Mary Boehm's poetry collection The Rain Girl (Chaffinch Press, 2020).

Rose Mary Boehm is a German-born British national living and writing in Lima, Peru, and author of two novels as well as seven poetry collections. Her poetry has been published widely in mostly US poetry reviews (online and print). She was twice nominated for a Pushcart. Her latest: Do Oceans Have Underwater Borders? (Kelsay Books, July 2022), Whistling in the Dark (Cyberwit, July 2022), and Saudade (Kelsay Books, December 2022) are available on Amazon. https://www.rose-mary-boehm-poet.com/

 

This month, one more Moon Prize, the 117th, also backdates to the July 2023 full moon (when, due to unforeseen circumstances, I was unable to coordinate the prize) and it goes to Tamara Madison's poem "Voyager."


Voyager

by Tamara Madison


I.

You were like the last leaf, gone
from green to autumn red, that clung
to the vine into December, just

because it did, through sun and rain
and wind until finally a strong gust
sheared you off and you were gone.

II.

When you left this world,
you abandoned your body like a dress
tossed aside after a night of dancing.

I imagine you — a spark launched
skyward, a comet fording the dark
ocean of the universe.

You don’t have to call to me, Voyager.
I will join you in my time. They say
deep peace will guide you on your journey
into the sea of everything.

III.

You used to wonder about the soul —
where it goes, what it is. You asked
a holy man once, imagining a world
without the body’s needs. I think
that’s where we’re headed, his reply.
You laughed about that for years.

You liked to think the departed stay close,
watching, guiding. So when you were leaving,
I could only be happy for you:
You’re going to find out all about it, Mama!

IV.

But you are gone now; I wait
to feel you near, to hear your spirit voice.

You left behind the earthly you —
your scent lingers among the clothes
I took from your closet, your old concerns
breathe among your typewritten pages
and canvases where a younger you
laid your visions down in paint.

All that’s left of you now
is everything that’s missing.


* * * * *

"Voyager" was first published in the Journal of Radical Wonder and is part of Tamara Madison's new book, Morpheus Dips His Oar.

Tamara Madison is the author of three full-length poetry collections, Wild Domestic and Moraine (Pearl Editions), and two chapbooks, The Belly Remembers (Pearl Editions) and Along the Fault Line (Picture Show Press). A swimmer and a dog lover, she is a native of the California desert, but she has lived and traveled in many places. She is recently retired from teaching English and French in a high school in Los Angeles. Her new collection of poems, Morpheus Dips His Oar, is just out from Sheila-Na-Gig Press. Read more about her at tamaramadisonpoetry.com.

 

This month, an additional Moon Prize, the 116th, backdates to the July 2023 full moon (when, due to unforeseen circumstances, I was unable to coordinate a prize) and it goes to Mary Wescott Riser's serene poem "Evening Walk."


Evening walk

by Mary Wescott Riser


the trees make a cave
cool and shimmering with energy
at dusk
buttercups float in the shade
vibrating with color
the immense pulse of life
surrounds us
whether we notice or not


* * * * *

Mary Wescott Riser worked in Virginia independent schools for 30 years, most recently as Head of School at James River Day School, a K-8 day co-ed day school in Lynchburg, Virginia, where she served as Head for ten years. Mary received her B.A. in English and Philosophy from Georgetown University and her M.F.A. in Poetry from the University of Oregon. She writes the education blog “What’s Best For the Children?” www.maryriser.org. Mary and her husband, George, live in Covesville, Virginia and have two adult children.

This month's Moon Prize, the 115th, goes to Melanie Choukas-Bradley's haunting poem "The Water Cooler."

The Water Cooler

by Melanie Choukas-Bradley

 
Gather round the water cooler
For the latest on the latest mass shooting
How many dead, how many critical
 
Let’s put our heads together and get the facts
Where the children hid, how many rounds
What the cops did and didn’t do
 
The victims have our thoughts and prayers
They have our attention
We are talking about it, talking and talking
 
Until talk turns to the next one


* * * * *

A different version of "The Water Cooler" was first published in New Verse News.
 
Melanie Choukas-Bradley is a naturalist and award-winning author of seven nature books, including City of Trees, A Year in Rock Creek Park, Finding Solace at Theodore Roosevelt Island and The Joy of Forest Bathing. She began writing poetry during the pandemic and had the good fortune to discover Beate Sigriddaughter’s Writing in a Woman’s Voice. The site has featured several of her poems, including “How to Silence a Woman,” and “If I have loved you,” both of which won Moon Prizes. Her poetry has also appeared in New Verse News.