It’s hard to believe we’re already at the end of February, but here we are. And, as usual, the members of Women Who Submit continue to publish their remarkable work in outstanding publications.
So let’s celebrate the WWS members who published during the month of February!
Congratulations to Ann Tweedy, whose poem “First Light, then–“ appeared in Pangyrus.
“Tag, you’re it,” cancer says
and you fall down the hole, you
or someone you love. Your father, a friend
from work, the wife of the youth group leader
from the church you went to
in high school. You’re it or they’re it and it’s
just a matter of time. The rays they zap you with,
the poison they ply you with
to survive–for a time–
more or less intact. They don’t care
so much which. More or less.
Additional congrats to Ann for publishing her collection of story-poems A Registry of Survival with Last Word Press. The description of her collection states,
Ann Tweedy’s A Registry of Survival is a deeply moving portrait of her fraught relationship with her mother. Tweedy’s story-poems explore the minutiae of her mother’s struggles with mental health, and Tweedy’s own attempts to find some safe balance in her relationship with her mother. In this short, but richly woven collection, Tweedy gives voice to the bitter struggles many fight quietly every day, offering a bit of solace to society’s stigma of mental illness.
Kudos to Tisha Marie Reichle-Aguilera, whose flash “Voices” appeared in The Coachella Review.
Driving east on Interstate 10, I crank up the a/c. The sun peeks up over distant mountains, blinds me despite my designer sunglasses. Damn! It has been years since I trekked across this desert. Swore the last time I’d never do it again.
A shout out to Xochitl-Julisa Bermejo, whose poem “Variations on a Wooden Spoon” appeared in the Pleasure issue of SFWP.
I spoon feed you sweetness
when you’re weak & overworked.
I don’t mind as long as you spoon
me in the soft glow of dawn,
yellow light on the skin of dreams...
Congrats also to Xochitl for publishing her poem “When you check in to let me know you’re thinking of me,” also in the Pleasure issue of SFWP.
I smile, but sometimes your words fill too much space
in my phone, making me think you’re afraid of the void,
the empty screen, of being in a room alone. I recognize
this fear. I’ve been in that room wishing away stillness.
Kudos to Stephanie Yu, whose flash “Lord Randall” appeared in Longleaf Review.
At first it’s just a low feeling at the base of your tum, a knot being tied, but then it tugs like a rope being pulled at both ends by a pair of black hogs squealing and stamping and straining until your gut’s near to bursting, and then you recall how earlier that day when you went to the holler to shoot down some buck you discovered your true love crouching over a pot, fanning a fire as bright as her hair, how she jumped when she saw you, her eyes flashing green…
Additional kudos to Stephanie for publishing her flash “Cowboy Walks Into A Bar With The Closed Captions On” in HAD.
[dramatic music]
[footsteps approaching]
[saloon doors whistling]
I thought I told you to never show your face in here again.
[indistinct conversation fades]
Well I ain’t showing my face, am I?
[accordion lows mournfully]
Congrats also to Laura Sturza, whose article “What Mom Didn’t Cook” appeared in Eat, Darling, Eat.
Pick a cookbook from the 1960s or 1970s when my sister Jan and I were growing up in suburban Maryland. Any cookbook. Choose any recipe. Of those selected, 99.9 percent are ones my mother, Evelyn, did not make. In our home, no one was making casseroles or fried chicken or lasagna or an adventurous Chinese stir-fry.
In considering our childhood culinary adventure, such as it was, I credit Mom’s food prepping practices as my primary source material. I hesitate to call her provisions actual cooking. My father was not involved in anything concerning food, beyond consumption. There were reasons my quite wonderful mother was kitchen averse. I’ll get to them shortly.
A shout out to liz gonzález, who published four of her poems in Interlitq. The first poem is “Ritual for Cold, Humid Mornings.”
The rain cloud swelling inside your skull wakes you
before the alarm. Breathe. Unclench your jaw. Slip
your fingers under the fleece beanie and rub the
tender spots on your scalp. Pop one OTC anodyne.
Pray you won’t need more…
Interlitq also published liz’s poem “My Backyard Garden Office.”
The camellias and bougainvillea
came with the house,
giving me a head start.
First, we planted the nopal
in honor of Grandma’s cactus garden
that I only saw in a photograph.
By the time I was born,
she cooked with nopalitos from a jar.
Next, a row of roses: dainty white, joyful nectarine,
optimistic yellow, and fragrant lavender—
a reminiscence of the roses that greeted us
on the walkway to Grandma’s front door.
Then, a Meyer lemon and an orange tree to bring
my San Bernardino Valley roots back to me.
liz’s third poem in Interlitq is “A Rose, Red as Sangria.”
For Mama, on her 80th birthday
She chassés in a cha cha rhythm
to Santana’s “Smooth” guitar riff.
Her scarlet lined, black lace
flamenco gown
sways with her curves.
Twirls flutter the flounces
on her skirt like fans
on a summer day in Sevilla….
And liz’s fourth poem published by Interlitq is “Overcast.”
Gray clouds conceal
spring sky. Handwriting poems
stills the beast of grief.
Congrats also to Tisha Marie Reichle-Aguilera, whose short story “What Do You Know About Love?” was published by Jaded Ibis Press.
Isabel sat down in her favorite chair, its back leg all wobbly. A bit of coffee spilled. She sipped off the saucer and sat super still, engrossed in The Guiding Light. Today she’d find out who is the father of Kathy’s baby. When her daughters’ voices drifted out of their bedroom and down the hall, she leaned forward carefully to turn up the volume.
Julia stomped into the living room, still wearing pajamas, and blocked Isabel’s view.
Isabel leaned sideways to watch around her skinny daughter.
Julia flailed about, her frantic voice louder than the television. “Mamá, did you hear me? Caro’s leaving.”
The words merged with Kathy’s husband insisting that Kathy was innocent of murder. Why was Julia so dramatic all the time? Almost 18 and whined about everything. “Shhh!” Isabel waved her hand as if to swat Julia away.
And kudos to Jenise Miller for publishing her poem “Bantu Knots” with Raising Motherhood.
my daughters gaze
wide-eyed at my hair
they’ve never seen this style
in their three and five years of life
oooo mami your hair they say
as they count and name them
rocks on a moon
ladybug polka dots
a hundred and ninety-nine bouncy buns
eyeballs all around town
bushes on a summer sun grassy day