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    Sixfold Poetry Summer 2020
    Sixfold Poetry Summer 2020
    Sixfold Poetry Summer 2020
    Ebook138 pages1 hour

    Sixfold Poetry Summer 2020

    By Sixfold

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    About this ebook

    Sixfold is an all-writer-voted journal. All writers who upload their manuscripts vote to select the highest-voted $1000 prize-winning manuscripts and all the short stories and poetry published in each issue.
    In Sixfold Poetry Summer 2020:
    Rodrigo Dela Peña | If a Wound is an Entrance for Light & other poems
    Shellie Harwood | Early Evening, Late September & other poems
    William A. Greenfield | The Deacon’s Lament & other poems
    J. H. Hall | Immersion & other poems
    Kimberly Sailor | Two Aphids & other poems
    Sugar le Fae | Bagging & other poems
    Lauren Sartor | Shopping Cart Woman & other poems
    Nathaniel Cairney | Mushroom Hunting, Jackson County, Kansas & other poems
    Elisa Carlsen | Cormorant & other poems
    Daniel Gorman | The Boy Achilles & other poems
    Samara Hill | I Look for Her Mostly Everywhere & other poems
    Nicole Justine Reid | Returning to Sensual & other poems
    David Ginsberg | Butterfly Wings & other poems
    Katherine B. Arthaud | Café Sant Ambroeus & other poems
    George R. Kramer | Young Odysseus & other poems
    Amy Swain | In Praise of Trees & other poems
    Frederick Shiels | Bad October: 2016 & other poems
    Matthew A. Hamilton | Summer of '89 & other poems
    Chris Kleinfelter | Getting from There to Here & other poems
    Martin Conte | Ghazal for the Shipwrecked & other poems
    Natalie LaFrance-Slack | I Do Not Owe You My Beauty & other poems
    Susan Marie Powers | Dark Water & other poems

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSixfold
    Release dateAug 18, 2020
    ISBN9781005249571
    Sixfold Poetry Summer 2020
    Author

    Sixfold

    Sixfold is an all-writer-voted short-story and poetry journal. All writers who submit their manuscripts vote to select the highest-voted $1000 prize-winning manuscripts and all the short stories and poetry published in each issue.

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      Book preview

      Sixfold Poetry Summer 2020 - Sixfold

      Sixfold Poetry Summer 2020

      by Sixfold

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2020 Sixfold and The Authors

      www.sixfold.org

      Sixfold is a completely writer-voted journal. The writers who upload their manuscripts vote to select the prize-winning manuscripts and the short stories and poetry published in each issue. All participating writers’ equally weighted votes act as the editor, instead of the usual editorial decision-making organization of one or a few judges, editors, or select editorial board.

      Each issue is free to read online and downloadable as PDF and e-book. Paperback book available at production cost including shipping.

      Cover Art from Vecteezy.com

      License Notes

      Copyright 2020 Sixfold and The Authors. This issue may be reproduced, copied, and distributed for noncommercial purposes, provided both Sixfold and the Author of any excerpt of this issue are acknowledged. Thank you for your support.

      Sixfold

      [email protected]

      www.sixfold.org

      Sixfold Poetry Summer 2020

      Rodrigo Dela Peña | If a Wound is an Entrance for Light & other poems

      Shellie Harwood | Early Evening, Late September & other poems

      William A. Greenfield | The Deacon’s Lament & other poems

      J. H. Hall | Immersion & other poems

      Kimberly Sailor | Two Aphids & other poems

      Sugar le Fae | Bagging & other poems

      Lauren Sartor | Shopping Cart Woman & other poems

      Nathaniel Cairney | Mushroom Hunting, Jackson County, Kansas & other poems

      Elisa Carlsen | Cormorant & other poems

      Daniel Gorman | The Boy Achilles & other poems

      Samara Hill | I Look for Her Mostly Everywhere & other poems

      Nicole Justine Reid | Returning to Sensual & other poems

      David Ginsberg | Butterfly Wings & other poems

      Katherine B. Arthaud | Café Sant Ambroeus & other poems

      George R. Kramer | Young Odysseus & other poems

      Amy Swain | In Praise of Trees & other poems

      Matthew A. Hamilton | Summer of '89 & other poems

      Chris Kleinfelter | Getting from There to Here & other poems

      Martin Conte | Ghazal for the Shipwrecked & other poems

      Natalie LaFrance-Slack | I Do Not Owe You My Beauty & other poems

      Susan Marie Powers | Dark Water & other poems

      Frederick Shiels | Bad October: 2016 & other poems

      Contributor Notes

      Rodrigo Dela Peña, Jr.

      If a Wound is an Entrance for Light

      then perhaps this hurting is both wave

                  and particle, a ripple on a pond,

                              a pebble. The scar on my mother’s sewn

      up belly is a shadow, a partial

                  eclipse imprinted on her skin.

                              I am still trying to grasp how a nick

      on a fingertip can bleed so much

                  and why a scan of my father’s body

                              showed constellations, a whole galaxy

      that whirled within him. Think of bones and how

                  they keep our secrets, a history of hairline

                              fractures, phantom aches. Think of people

      who wake up, cross the streets, with a bullet

                  beside the spine, shrapnel inside the skull.

                              My mother prays to saints whose miracle

      it was to be suddenly graced with wounds.

                  My father has been reduced to ashes.

                              Who knows of all the brightness we carry?

      Kinderszenen

      1.

      and there was light                   a flicker, a flood

      something like a face               unfurled

      becoming mother                     as if the world

      came into shape                        by being seen

      her voice a song                        sparkle of water

      in the distance                           it was almost

      clear and there                          came shadows

      the edge                                      of things a blur

      2.

      Say there was a trinket in your hand,

                  beads of glass strung with a thread.

      Say the names of each color, the tongue

                  baptizing what could be touched,

      tasted. And here was a brother who took

                  and took, snatching your precious away.

      Say shards, say fracture, how easy

                  it was for the world to be shattered.

      3.

      Mother was a soiled apron, clatter

      of pots and knives and spoons, was broom

      that swept the floor, was fingers

      on forehead, chest, left then right shoulder.

      Father was a cigarette, its glowing

      ember, tendrils of smoke, was a gun

      in a drawer, was a gravelly voice

      and the silence that followed.

      4.

      The days stretched and repeated themselves.

      Language began inhabiting the tongue.

      I was told to wake up, obey, be quiet.

      There was no way to outrun my own shadow.

      A game: pass a finger quickly through a flame.

      My knees always had cuts, scrapes, scratches.

      A hand could be a claw, could be a fist.

      I had yet to learn forgiveness.

      Metamorphosis

      Quick swerve along the highway

                  then suddenly there was a bus

      hurtling toward us, and I saw

                  the wreckage that would happen,

      felt the impact in my bones

                  as the vehicles drew closer,

      air luminous and charged

                  with current at this instant,

      the edges of things sharp, time

                  suspended as a pendulum

      in its apex, though all I could

                  say then was no no no—I still

      wanted to live,

                                  and somehow

      there was no collision, death

                  speeding, missing our skin

      by a hair, breath so close

                  that I sensed its chill on my nape,

      a flash that would return

                  to me, pierce me in the years

      to come, the weight of it

                  settling, lightening on my chest,

      only a moment but I knew

                  when we stopped, struck

      by a god or a sliver of luck,

                  O, I was already changed.

      Instead of a Letter

      You who made a bracelet out of scars

      on your wrist, how each slash inflicted

      was a memento of getting through each week.

      You from whom I learned how to drink cheap gin

      straight out of the bottle, wincing at every

      swig—where have you been after the tumble

      of years, everyone else caught in the song

      and dance of getting married, raising kids?

      I heard you moved to Finland and I worry

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