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
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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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
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