Still with Me – Alarie Tennille

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Still with Me

I coveted that chicken.
The tiniest animal
in the plastic barnyard full of cows,
pigs, sheep, and the more flamboyant
rooster. The hen looked little
even in my six-year-old palm
that I closed tight around her. I took
her home. My friend had
too many toys to notice.

Right?
            Right?

I could hear her clucking in my coat
pocket on the drive home.
When only two, I had to apologize
for picking a neighbor’s daffodil.
This time I knew better.

I hid her in a drawer.
She scratched,
                     flapped,
                            squawked
            trying to get out,
                       to go home.

The next day I smuggled her
out for a walk. Dropped her
in the grass.

No good.

Peck, peck…
       peck,
          peck. 

Can you hear her?

Alarie Tennille graduated from The University of Virginia in the first class admitting women.  She serves on the Emeritus Board of The Writers Place in Kansas City, Missouri.  Alarie’s latest poetry collection is Running Counterclockwise.  Please visit her at alariepoet.com.

 

A Note from the Editor

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Happy September everyone!

Summer is coming to a close. Time for pumpkin spice lattes, falling leaves and all that good stuff.  We will be taking a little break starting September 7 till the end of the month to sort through submissions, work on the ebook and get our *ahem* “stuff” together in general.  Keep those submissions coming! We will continue to read during the month of September, but no new work will be posted on the website during our break.

Also, we’ve extended our ebook deadline to October 1st!  So if you haven’t yet, send us your best poetry and flash fiction.

The ebook is coming along beautifully.  We plan to publish it in the beginning of December, and we will make the final announcement for the ebook date soon.  Thank you to our loyal readers and for all the wonderful submissions.

Sincerely,

Abbie Copeland
Editor

P.S. Remember to follow us on Twitter @DyingDahliaRev or on Facebook.

The Vintage Pharmacy – Derbyshire – Eleanor Leonne Bennett

art, Uncategorized

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“The Vintage Pharmacy – Derbyshire”

Eleanor Leonne Bennett is an internationally award winning artist of over fifty awards. She is an art editor for multiple publications around the world. Eleanor’s photography has been published in British Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar. Her work has been displayed around the world consistently for six years since the age of thirteen. She is also a published writer and poet.  http://eleanorleonnebennett.com/

Jewess in a Forest – Rachel Kass

poems, Uncategorized

Jewess in a Forest

I cry vinegar I

forgive you I

imagine rain, 

dry meadow

quit kvetching, 

night bird 

 

I’m inappropriate

dinner table

serotonin level

political

this poem is yeast 

still thinking it will rise

Rachel Kass is working toward her MFA in poetry at California College of the Arts in San Francisco.  Her work can be found on tiny poetry : macropoetics and velvet-tail‘s upcoming Equinox issue. Rachel is an overzealous cat mom, a sock collector and a connoisseur of coloring books. Find out more at RachelKass.com.

When We Speak with Our Hands – Abigail George

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When We Speak with Our Hands

This Cinderella city life
is a terrible
scar. Winter in
Johannesburg
becomes a-glittering
Rainbowland
after the rain
sweeps the heart
of the heat and
dust away off
the wet-slick of pavements.
Black, white,
colored, Asian.
Snow enchanting.
Here in winter
I am a girl again.
Here men walk
into brick walls
with their hands
balled into fists
without caring
if they hurt
themselves or not.
Not giving a damn.
Punches flying
through the air.
Here men walk
the talk from
drugs to evangelism.
The alcoholic
in the family
sates his thirst
with beer. Sucking
the liquid through
its open top
as if they are
accomplishing
something worthwhile.

Abigail George briefly studied film at the Newtown Film and Television
School in Johannesburg. She is an editor, feminist poet and writer.
She is the recipient of two National Arts Council writing grants, one
from the Centre of the Book and another from ECPACC (Eastern Cape
Provincial Arts and Culture Council). Her short story “Wash Away My
Sins” was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. She is also a member of
PEN SA. She is currently working on a young adult novel.

2 Poems – Megan E. Freeman

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Despair

the detritus of which is hope
like tea leaves in an empty cup

telling fortunes and promising tomorrow

 

Euphoria

laughter like pop rocks explodes on her tongue
and the bottoms of her feet tap a time step
on the oxygen above our heads

an open envelope in her hand

Megan E. Freeman’s debut poetry collection, Lessons on Sleeping Alone, was published in 2015 by Liquid Light Press. She has been published in literary anthologies and educational journals, and her poetry has been selected as texts for compositions commissioned by the Los Angeles Master Chorale and Ars Nova Singers. www.meganefreeman.com

Crackle of Moth Wings Burning – Sophia Terazawa

poems, Uncategorized

Crackle of Moth Wings Burning

Plantations in Darjeeling,
a hotel called Mona Lisa,

barefoot during a storm,
we fell to liquid wax

working no way out.
The fog and rooster’s call

rolled the candle down
a tea-stained mountain’s back.

We watched the homes take shape
of Uma’s constellation

the light in dancing trees,
where Sandip smoked a ring,

the crack within his knee,
that dotara horse-head string.

He played the walls,
he played us, too, the cyclone

and its gusty drum
like ripples in a tin

or faith in Uma’s cry.

Sophia Terazawa is the author of I AM NOT A WAR (Essay Press, 2016). Her poetry has been recently published in Mud City Journal, Yalobusha Review, and The James Franco Review. For now, she lives in Dallas, Texas.

Skin – Brandy Wilkinson

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Skin

When I was young, I knew every mark and scar.
I’d report them to my mother, who thought
the mental catalog of my skin was strange.
But how much I learned to see from the study of it:
The thick, chubby skin of my baby daughter’s arms and how
my grandfather fell the first time he came to see her,
the leathery skin of his own arms tearing,
separating as easily as the membrane on an unstirred pot.
My own skin, now with spots of white and the
seasoning left by too many years chasing sun.
A visible vein, the silvery split of a stretchmark, bruises that
waste no time seeping up and smearing the surface with
everywhere I have been.

Brandy Wilkinson is a writer living in Indiana with her husband, their children, some motorcycles and one elderly dog. Her work has appeared online at Mothers Always Write and Silver Birch Press. She also reads and writes at brandywilkinson.com.