Running into My Husband’s Dentist and His Dog on the Golf Course by Terri Kirby Erickson

My husband’s dentist has this giant
poodle named Ned that sits as still
as a statue on the golf cart seat, his
profile regal, his fur flapping in the
breeze as they blow by my husband
and me on their way to the next hole.
It must be nice not to have a dentally
challenged room-full of patients to
deal with on a fine spring day when
the sun is casting its rays of light all
over the place, as bright and happy
as a sparkler. We’re pretty carefree,
too, since only a few of my husband’s
golf balls have flown into the woods
and we just saw a great blue heron
standing in a shallow pond among the
detritus of other golfers’ errant shots.
And it occurs to me that the dentist
and his furry partner look a lot alike—
both lean and fit with the admirably
erect posture of professional athletes
or generals, yet there is no look at me,
look at me flash about the two of them.
They are just a kind man and his well-
behaved dog, enjoying a round of golf
and waving at a patient and his wife
who are grinning at him right now with
teeth he doesn’t have to pull, fill, or clean.



Terri Kirby Erickson is the author of eight collections of poetry, including The Light That Follows Us Home, which will be released by Press 53 in the fall. Her work has been widely published and has won numerous awards, including the Joy Harjo Poetry Prize and International Book Award for Poetry.

Haiku by Gareth Nurden

The goals
I never chased
Dreamcatcher



Gareth Nurden is a haikuist from Newport, Wales and has had several hundred pieces published in nineteen countries worldwide in journals such as Under the Basho, Tsuri-Doro, Kokako, The Heron's Nest and more.

Bridges by Russell Rowland

The Swift River, taking with it
whatever it can carry, bringing nothing back—

along with my adult daughter,
I crossed dry-shod by means of a footbridge.

Bridge boards bore the weight of our passage.

I heard our quartet of feet
thump also on a lengthier span. It stretched

from Baby’s bath and bottle hours—her dad
green at both—to this traversal,
and to thoughts of a present little girl at home

with her father, the husband of my daughter.

I mean a bridge that will carry the four of us
to the indiscernible further bank,

across time’s own eponymous Swift River.



Russell Rowland has helped judge high school Poetry Out Loud competitions in New Hampshire's Lakes Region.

In the Memory Care Unit by Martha Christina

the first snow smelled like white crayons
eight nine ten eight nine ten
those coats are watching me
yesterday I lost the red petunia
All the outside doors are marked Exit,
my sister says, but I can’t get out.



Martha Christina has published two collections: Staying Found (Fleur-de-lis Press) and Against Detachment (Pecan Grove Press). Her work appears in earlier issues of Red Eft Review, and recently in Star 82 Review, Crab Orchard Review, and Tiny Seed Journal. Born and raised in Indiana, she now lives in Bristol, Rhode Island.

Roughage by Martha Christina

What my mother
called the family
of greens she
stabbed with her
fork. She ate
with determination,
as though this might
be her last meal.
She had survived
what was known then
as a fatal disease, but
she emerged from its
fever, no longer able
to love. Pretend
you care, her mother
instructed, but even
before her illness,
my mother was not
a pretender. She
went on eating.



Martha Christina has published two collections: Staying Found (Fleur-de-lis Press) and Against Detachment (Pecan Grove Press). Her work appears in earlier issues of Red Eft Review, and recently in Star 82 Review, Crab Orchard Review, and Tiny Seed Journal. Born and raised in Indiana, she now lives in Bristol, Rhode Island.