Watches by Cathryn Shea

It’s no longer acceptable to wear a wristwatch,
you must tell time by the shadows
cast on buildings and trees.

You are not allowed to look at your phone,
that would be rude.

Prove that you can navigate the world
without props and aids.

Use your head.

Imagination is a peculiar loam,
infinity captured
in the dark matter we don’t understand.

The poet dies in his sleep.
And I’m jealous
because that is a good way to go
and I fear I might linger.

My grandfather told me his ticker was slowing down.
He felt it. I planned to visit soon.
Within the clock’s twenty-four hour sweep
his heart stopped.



Cathryn Shea is the author of “It’s Raining Lullabies” (dancing girl, 2017) and “My Heart is a Salt Mirror Like Salar de Uyuni” (Rinky Dink, 2018). She’s been nominated for Best of the Net and appears in Tar River Poetry, Gargoyle, Permafrost, Rust + Moth, Tinderbox, etc. See www.cathrynshea.com and @cathy_shea.

Learning to Swim by Terence McCaffrey

My son dog paddles over the scratchy string
of blue and white buoys and into the murk
of the deep end, oblivious to oblivion,
water overwhelming water, the lesser body losing.
He jerks across the surface, his skinny limbs
raking the darker depths, stirring the cold
hardness of becoming.

He looks the way most adults feel:
all strain and struggle, desperate
to stay afloat. Myself, I’m teetering on a sliver
of vinyl liner in a 1984 T-shirt, forever watching,
begging him with every inch he gains to stay
just as he is: a boy, a ballplayer, an aspiring author.

Nights, I’ve been finding him in our bed,
so I carry his long body, heavy with the weight
of new worry, back to his small blue room
where he still dreams high flying
comic book dreams, but they’re waning dreams
I know will someday disappear.

Afternoon shadows spill across the uneven pavers.
He’s spitting now. Smiling. I think he’s got it,
the notion that progress takes work.
His hand slaps the ladder’s rung, and somewhere
young sparrows pull and sweep from their nest.

Sparks of water fly from his trunks as he shuffles
for the shallow end, returning to where he started,
the safe, clean neighborhood of childhood.
When his face flashes with kindness
I feel like a fugitive with a stricken heart, knowing
this will happen again when he’s older,
this latest test of his will. This test of mine.



Terence McCaffrey’s poems have appeared in Connecticut River Review, Freshwater, Right Hand Pointing, and elsewhere. He received a M.A.L.S. degree in Humanities from Wesleyan University and a B.A. from the University of Hartford where he was the recipient of the Phyllis B. Abrahms Award in Fiction. He lives with his wife and two children in West Simsbury, CT.

Haiku by Stephen Toft

autumn sunset
cows all facing
the same direction



Stephen Toft is a poet and homelessness worker who lives in Lancaster, UK with his wife and their children. His first collection "the kissing bridge" was published by Red Moon Press in 2008 and in December 2016 Scars Publications released his chapbook "naming a storm: haiku and tanka." In 2018 Yavanika Press released his third collection “deer heart” as a free to download e-book.

Haiku by Stephen Toft

honeymoon
the sunlight between
our toes



Stephen Toft is a poet and homelessness worker who lives in Lancaster, UK with his wife and their children. His first collection "the kissing bridge" was published by Red Moon Press in 2008 and in December 2016 Scars Publications released his chapbook "naming a storm: haiku and tanka." In 2018 Yavanika Press released his third collection “deer heart” as a free to download e-book.

Haiku by Stephen Toft

summer’s end
a rope dangles
over the river



Stephen Toft is a poet and homelessness worker who lives in Lancaster, UK with his wife and their children. His first collection "the kissing bridge" was published by Red Moon Press in 2008 and in December 2016 Scars Publications released his chapbook "naming a storm: haiku and tanka." In 2018 Yavanika Press released his third collection “deer heart” as a free to download e-book.

Press Release for Corey's Poetry Reading

COREY D. COOK TO READ AT MOULTONBOROUGH, NH LIBRARY

Poet and editor Corey D. Cook will be the featured reader at the Moultonborough Library Evening of Poetry on Tuesday, September 4, 2018, at 7:30 p.m.

Cook grew up in Vermont and received a B.A. from New England College in 2002. His pieces, mostly poems, have appeared in over 120 online and print publications, including the Aurorean, Brevities, Chiron Review, Entelechy International, Freshwater, Loch Raven Review, Lummox, Northern New England Review, Pearl and The Somerville Times. Corey’s fifth chapbook, The Weight of Shadows, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press in early 2019. He edited The Orange Room Review with his wife, Rachael, for eight years and currently edits Red Eft Review. He works at Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center in Lebanon, NH, and lives in Thetford Center, VT.

There will be an “open mic” time following the feature. The Moultonborough Library is located at 4 Holland Street, near the blinking light at the intersection of Routes 25 and 109 North.

Haiku by Stephen Toft

shade of a pine
migrant workers
share their lunch



Stephen Toft is a poet and homelessness worker who lives in Lancaster, UK with his wife and their children. His first collection "the kissing bridge" was published by Red Moon Press in 2008 and in December 2016 Scars Publications released his chapbook "naming a storm: haiku and tanka." In 2018 Yavanika Press released his third collection “deer heart” as a free to download e-book.

Tim by Turner Wibbelsman

Every summer, dad’s friend
would return home from Alaska,
having worked the king crab
seasons, toughing the ice
and brute of the Bering Sea,
those massive hands
calloused thick from nylon
nets and steel winches, blood
left behind, washed through
the bulwark drainage slits
to mix with that dark sea.

And we could hear the diesel
engine long before the pick-up
pulled in the back driveway—
running barefoot across the wet
yard, my brother and I shouldering
the large white cooler, its ice sloshing
our long-awaited treasures.

Unhinging rubber latches,
we lifted that great lid,
thick as my fist, having held
the north Pacific chill
across all those long states,
finally released onto grinning faces
as we plucked king crabs
from the ice-water, hands
wincing from brief
submersion and shell points
pressing into soft palms—
our small price to pay.

And as the crabs cooked,
we laid newspaper
on the porch table, set out
wooden mallets and peered
under the green grill lid
until our feast was ready
to be dumped on the table—
sitting on our knees so we
could reach across the pile,
finding that greatest red claw.

Years later, I received
news that he had suddenly
passed, traveler’s soul approaching
the strange final destination,
flying down the parkway
with June’s sweet air filling
the truck cab, having weathered
winter at sea, bringing the world’s
regal gift back home.



Turner Wibbelsman is a graduate of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and former editor of UNC's Health Humanities Journal. He plans to attend medical school in the future. 

One of Those People by Shannon Lise

          After “The Carousing Couple,” a painting by Judith Leyster

You would perhaps
have liked
to be one of those people

like Judith Leyster, painting
her splotchy red
faces back in the 17th century

getting other people’s signatures
forged over her own
until she was quite forgotten, but still

knowing how to capture laughter
how to make even
her unattractive characters –

the round rubber-cheeked woman
with a huge forehead,
the insecure squat-nosed man fussed

up in that ridiculous French collar
and pretending to play
violin – look happy, even pleasant

as if they’d seen the way poplar leaves
turn fuzzy silver
undersides to the sunlight. As if they

knew that sometimes it does snow
on Christmas
even in places like Abilene.

But we could’ve filled a blank Bible-
length notebook
with the things you would’ve liked to be.



Originally from Texas, Shannon Lise spent twelve years in the Middle East and currently lives with her husband in Quebec, spending as much time as possible in the woods or on the water. She also writes epic fantasy realism and is the author of the novel Keeper of Nimrah (Ethandune Publishing, 2014). 

At the Farmer's Market by Martha Christina

“How’s your husband?” the man
selling fruit and berries from his
orchard asks. We haven’t seen
each other since October when
he left to winter in Florida, and
your prognosis was for a quick
recovery. So I have to say again
the words I’ve had to say for
months, and he kindly offers
condolences with his nectarines.

I buy a bag and move on, past
the man selling fish, the woman
promising rugalah like her Nana’s,
another offering the first sweet
corn of the season, and the recent
divorcee making lemonade, her
husband still alive and a worry.

I pick up my farm-share from
the woman who reminded you
of our daughter, and who gives
me a weekly hug because she
knows fresh produce only goes
so far.

And all the while, this week’s
live music drifts over and
around me: guitar and harp,

a husband and wife duo.



Martha Christina is a frequent contributor to Brevities. Longer work appears in Innisfree Poetry Journal, Naugatuck River Review, earlier postings of Red Eft Review, and most recently in the anthology Ice Cream Poems from World Enough Writers. She has published two collections: Staying Found (Fleur-de-lis Press) and Against Detachment (Pecan Grove Press). 

Reception by Martha Christina

Monday, a window-
washing crew arrives
with squeegees
and drying chamois.

Tuesday, a mason repairs
brickwork where the silver
maple went down in a late
March storm.

Wednesday, Thursday,
and Friday, the lawn care
team prunes, mows, and
turns five leaf blowers
to full force and volume.

All this in preparation for
Saturday’s celebration
of the daughter joining
her father’s law firm.

Saturday morning, rain ticks
against the freshly-washed
windows. It falls all day on
the brickwork, on the lawn,
and on the tent filled with
music and laughter; and

on the caterer’s server:

undocumented, checking

her cell-phone in case
a message comes to
get out of there, quick.



Martha Christina is a frequent contributor to Brevities. Longer work appears in Innisfree Poetry Journal, Naugatuck River Review, earlier postings of Red Eft Review, and most recently in the anthology Ice Cream Poems from World Enough Writers. She has published two collections: Staying Found (Fleur-de-lis Press) and Against Detachment (Pecan Grove Press). 

Another Kind of Prospering by Martha Christina

Up from New Orleans
to New England,
Rosa held fast to
southern traditions,
named her three
table restaurant
“Lagniappe,” and
served an extra
beignet or wedge
of cornbread to
all her customers:
no extra charge.

I’d like to say
her little restaurant
prospered with
a steady stream
of locals and tourists,
but it lasted only
one season. Rosa
and her new hire
(a woman who’d
never been out
of Massachusetts)
closed up, settled
their debts and
themselves, newly-
wed in New Orleans.



Martha Christina is a frequent contributor to Brevities. Longer work appears in Innisfree Poetry Journal, Naugatuck River Review, earlier postings of Red Eft Review, and most recently in the anthology Ice Cream Poems from World Enough Writers. She has published two collections: Staying Found (Fleur-de-lis Press) and Against Detachment (Pecan Grove Press). 

about feeling lonely and lost by J.J. Campbell

my best friend
complains about
the pain

complains about
feeling lonely
and lost

i tell her it's
cancer

all her negative
thoughts is
cancer winning

i worry she
will die before
i get to see her
again

die alone in
a damn alley
turning tricks
for money for
dog food

i told her it's
okay to die

when that stops
making her angry

i know the end
is near



J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is old enough to know where the bodies are buried. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at Under the Bleachers, Synchronized Chaos and Otoliths. His most recent chapbook "the taste of blood on christmas morning" was published by Analog Submission Press. You can find him most days waxing poetic on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (http://evildelights.blogspot.com)

A Silence by Steve Klepetar

“Had we remained together
we could have become a silence.”

          Yehuda Amichai

Like roots of trees or masonry
in a wall, like fish gliding
through darkness, with just
our hands brushing against
each other’s skin. We could
have entered through doors
we kept locked, turning keys
gently, pulling on the knobs.
We could have stepped into
the hallway, wandered through
rooms of a large house, near
where green mountains loomed.
We could have sailed through air,
without words to drag us back to earth.



Steve Klepetar lives in the Berkshires in Massachusetts. His work has received several nominations for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize. Recent collections include A Landscape in Hell (Flutter Press) and Why Glass Shatters (One Sentence Chaps).

First Snowfall by Nathan Graziano

Early December, and the first snow covers
all things on the outside. Across the street
a young mother pulls her snow-suited girl
in a blue plastic sled—the toddler sitting
upright with her legs straight out and arms
in the air. I’m watching from the window
in the kitchen, waiting on a pot of coffee.

In the windowless basement, my wife
and my daughter—suddenly a teenager—
wrap Christmas presents, side by side,
lost in folds and tape and tags and paper
and bright ribbons in a dank, dark place.  



Nathan Graziano lives in Manchester, New Hampshire. His books include Teaching Metaphors (Sunnyoutside Press), After the Honeymoon (Sunnyoutside Press) Hangover Breakfasts (Bottle of Smoke Press in 2012), Some Sort of Ugly (Marginalia Publishing in 2013), and My Next Bad Decision (Artistically Declined Press, 2014). Almost Christmas, a collection of short prose pieces, was recently published by Redneck Press. Graziano writes a baseball column for Dirty Water Media in Boston. For more information, visit his website: www.nathangraziano.com. 

Girl Gone Ghost by Nathan Graziano

You took the first flight back to San Diego

bringing all your possessions—your clothes, 

light for California, your hardcover book

on astrology, the silver ring you wore

as a wedding band whenever we went out

so no one would stare, your service dog

with its papers in the pocket of your fur coat.

I swallow that pronoun like antifreeze—yours.

You slipped from me without a decent goodbye,

without apology, with nothing but a quick kiss

at a bus station, a mumbled promise that we’d see

each other again, someday. I didn’t know better.

You booked a flight out of Boston, the first flight

for ghosts then deleted me, the married man

who never whispered into your ear the things

you needed to hear, the syllables to make you stay.

Nathan Graziano lives in Manchester, New Hampshire. His books include Teaching Metaphors (Sunnyoutside Press), After the Honeymoon (Sunnyoutside Press) Hangover Breakfasts (Bottle of Smoke Press in 2012), Some Sort of Ugly (Marginalia Publishing in 2013), and My Next Bad Decision (Artistically Declined Press, 2014). Almost Christmas, a collection of short prose pieces, was recently published by Redneck Press. Graziano writes a baseball column for Dirty Water Media in Boston. For more information, visit his website: www.nathangraziano.com.