While I still have yet to make the 40 minute drive to Garnet, the most nearby Montanan ghost town, I can happily report that I have two poems in the current issue of Ghost Town! OK, alright- cheesy intro, but give me a break; actual winter (not that 50 degree weirdness we had for a few weeks) has returned to Missoula, and I’ve been consuming Netflix episodes of Friends so voraciously you’d think I didn’t have any of my own. If you’ve only got 20 minutes, I’d definitely recommend dipping into this issue over continuing mindlessly to relive 1995. Joan Naviyuk Kane‘s three knockouts are enough to make February seem bearable, and these poems from Brandon Rushton and Laura Kasischke could also help one temporarily forget the swirling vortex of existential malaise outside the plastic-wrapped windows. What are you waiting for? Go forth and warm thy cockles, or whatever. (What’s a cockle, again? Some kind of bivalve, I think. I guess they should be heated before consumption.) Don’t worry– the mid 90’s will be waiting for you when you’re done.
Yesterday was a damn fine day. I was reading and writing and snacking in my sunny little apartment when, at some point between fistfuls out-of-season blueberries and a turkey sandwich, my friend Phil texted to tell me that the new issue of Tinderbox Poetry Journal was up, in which we both have poems! (I guess the turkey sandwich was celebratory.)
I got pretty excited about Tinderbox when it first appeared this summer. They hit the ground running with the first issue, and haven’t lost any steam since, so I’m really grateful to editors Brett Elizabeth Jenkins and Molly Sutton Kiefer for including two of my poems, “Mechanism” and “Window” in number 3. (Three is also my second favorite number, after nine. Which is only my favorite number because it’s three threes, and is so, then, “three-er than three,” as my friend Alicia has said. Which is to say that probably, in the end, three is my favorite number. So…third issue!)
This is one fat baby, and could last you all afternoon if you chew slowly. In particular, I was into Brandon Amico’s “Wherein a Trip to Western New Hampshire Predicts the Outcome of Our Relationship,” (“A pine cone is to a grenade / as sex is to a pine cone, but I don’t remember // how, exactly;”) all of the poems by Jessica Bixel, but especially “Almanac” and “Departure”, as well as “Mountains” by Anna Lea Jancewicz and “The Weight of It” by Nicole Rollender. I also recommend checking out Philip Schaefer’s “Autobiographies,” which manages to get a circus, a mirage, the state of Idaho, a silver shovel, a piccolo, “talismanic mania,” porcelain dolls, hickeys, and edible jewels all into one poem without losing momentum. Finally, props to Julie Choffel’s “You and Me Dear,” especially for the phrase “sentient motherfucker.” Dig in!
Got my copyof the lovely Yemassee 21.2 in the mail yesterday! (It could have been the day before. My mailbox is all the way at the front entrance of my building, and this seems like a hopelessly impassable distance sometimes.)
Cool cover art and full-color center spread by Chambers Austelle, and my poem, “Say Uncle,” is keeping pretty great company with their Pocataligo Poetry Contest winner and runners up, fiction contest runners up, and the rest of the grade-A contributors. I’m particularly digging the poems “Wild Child” by Dara-Lyn Shrager and “This Attic,” by Pocataligo contest runner up Catherine Bresner. Packing this bad boy with me today so I can sink my teeth into it at the farmer’s market, along with an overpriced egg sandwich and a suspiciously under-priced bloody Mary. Cheers to the last day of summer.