|A hero, if ever I had one.|
|A hero, if ever I had one.|
WindowsHere am I, repeated,
and beyond waits everything
but everything is more
than I can bear.
I am not built for altitude
nor looking far afield;
groves and granite-sided mountains
stop my gaze
like rest for every tired wing;
a cover in the coldest time
snugged up beneath my chin.
Windows nothing more,
but safe lies there behind them
as the chambered hours pass;
safe sleeps there behind them
on the soft side of the glass.
The Town WitchEvery town has its witch. At least I think they do. I know ours does. She isn't scary like stories say she should be. She has a face like my older sister's, the one who isn't married yet, with an eager smile and bright eyes. Her hands though are like my Momma's, calloused and stretched with small roots under the skin.
Her cottage is just outside of town with a small path that runs down to the sea. Her garden is full of overgrown plants that Momma would always "tut" at when we walked by, but it's full of herbs and flowers that she tends with care. She always smells like the honeysuckle that grows around her door and like baking. She bakes often, with her windows thrown open, her singing drifting through her garden all way to the road, the thick sills stacked with rows of cooling pastries. She always leaves batches of small, sweet buns on the outer edge where us children could easily reach. Not that she ever let on that she knew we were taking them. It was the great game amongst us, pret
I can't always keep up with proper thanks, but know that I do thank anyone who reads anything of mine.
Also, you're already welcome. So no need to thank me for a thing. (:
MUSHY POEM WARNING. I'M NOT SORRY.
My nephew will be two years old tomorrow and I'm a ball of ridiculous emotions. The kiddo started out with colic and is still a very emotional child. I remember the morning from this poem perfectly and the exact way his breath sounded when the music calmed him down. I knew that morning that he and I are very similar creatures but still had no idea how he would rule my world from then on out. I'm still very much a Pearl Jam girl but he's moved on to 80s glam bands and British pop. Kids these days, y'all.
Originally published in Up the Staircase Quarterly - Summer 2016
I know it's not an appropriate song for an infant, but it beat playing Top 40 for the eager-eared stinker:
While I'm getting my own stuff readied to bring back over this way, I thought I'd share our current calls over at cahoodaloodaling because why in the world wouldn't y'all be submitting your work, right? Right. So, here we go with a tiny introduction and what it is we're looking for in both categories! And by the way, we read blind so I won't know who submitted and you aren't supposed to tell me.
cahoodaloodaling is a collaborative publication. Our quarterly issues are shaped by an eclectic staff and a revolving guest editor. We also have varying calls for submissions, based on either a theme or a style, and we love to see how our collaborators interpret them. As such, our issues are ever-changing and our style ever-evolving. Feel free to send us cross-media work, push the envelope, or even suggest an idea for a future issue or feature. We especially love collaborative work, but it is not a requirement for submissions. We are what you make us.
Current calls include:
“The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.” —Hemingway
Solitude—whether alone on the road in a car, train, motel room, or a forest trail, or even secluded and tucked away in your home, whether it’s a welcomed moment of peacefulness or a lonely state of despair—times of solitude shape us, recharge us, and break us down to our essence. Sometimes we choose to step away from the world. Sometimes the world breaks us and casts us aside. In those moments alone, if we make the choice to continue and create, true artists are born. We cross a border we cannot uncross and heal through our words, finding ourselves—and sometimes finding new selves in the process. As Hemingway said, sometimes we’re strong in those broken places, and sometimes we’re not. Sometimes that jagged broken part affects us forever afterward.
This fall issue we are interested in capturing both the positive, reaffirming pieces about solitude along with those that reveal pain, heartbreak, and introspection. We seek to investigate those breaking point moments, those halting discoveries, those empowered decisions that compel us to walk away from the world and to let the silt settle in the pool of water in our soul. Whether you enjoy locking yourself away or you had to in order to save yourself from hell, we want to hear how these moments lead to creative revelations and re-energized focus, or how they still haunt you to this day.
The queer identity is multitudinous and multifaceted. Despite the strong sense of unity we share, wherever it is that we go, being queer in one place is going to be different than being queer in another—often times, vastly so. As such, the individual delivers to the world an identity that is comprised simultaneously of sexual and geographic orientation. We as a community embody what it means to be African and transsexual, Alabamian and bisexual, Russian and lesbian, Californian and asexual, Iranian and gay.
Whichever letter of the queer alphabet you ascribe to, that identity is worth expressing in a manner that does not separate you from the culture that you belong to, but rather reveals the complicated relationship between exterior and interior place. The world needs to know us as we really are, not as we are stereotypically perceived to be. In this issue, we invite works that deliver a sense of the relationship that exists between queer person and place.
The topics of your work do not have to be queer in theme, but we do ask that you as a contributor belong to the queer community. Also, if you would rather be published anonymously, please specify and we will be happy to keep your name private.
Guest Editor: Alesha Dawson, editor-in-chief of the upcoming
Screen Door Review
a literary journal based in Birmingham, AL
which aims to promote literary voices of the queer South
Submissions due 12/9/17
Issue live 1/31/18