November is over, which means 2021 has almost drawn to a close. Even with the end of the year in sight, WWS members continue to send out their work and publish in amazing places.
I’ve included an excerpt from published pieces (if available) or a blurb if the publication is a book, and a link (if available) to where the pieces can be purchased and/or read in their entirety.
Please join me in celebrating our members who published in November!
Congratulations to Lois P. Jones, whose poetry appeared in the Bridport Prize Anthology 2021.
Congratulations also to Dinah Berland, whose poetry collection Hotel at the End of the World was published by Finishing Line Press. Says Cecelia Woloch of the collection:
“There is so much quiet magic in these poems, so much tenderness and skill. Dinah Berland achieves a kind of seamlessness, here, between worlds—the worlds of the living and the dead, of waking and of dreams, of art and life, of the terrible and the beautiful. Even while the poems embrace the ordinariness of our everyday existence, they are reaching far beyond it, toward a kind of eternity.“
Kudos to Carla Sameth, whose poem “Unpacked” was published by Soren Lit.
Did you know? This feng shui space in the tropical breeze
of your friend’s Savannah house, the big pillared porch
is for you. A tree-climber’s dream, live oak trees stretching languorously,
Spanish moss, purple hydrangeas. “Rest here,” your friend insists,
offers a white waffle-patterned spa bathrobe.
Did you know that the birds are calling you? When thoughts
take you far away to a land rank with regret, unraveling
obsession, and rancid fear, seek the sweet birdcalls.
A shout out to Maylin Tu, whose article “There’s So Much Small Talk in Motherhood: Here’s How to Master It” appeared in Mother Untitled.
Confession: I hate small talk. As an inveterate introvert, it makes me break out in a cold sweat. Especially when talking to strangers, I get that deer-in-the-headlights look that makes things awkward for everyone involved—“Am I supposed to say something? What do I say? Oh my god, I’m making it weird.” But even though I hate it, I realize I’ve missed out on so many positive moments of connection with other people (especially after spending a year and half avoiding them).
And to Romain Washington, congratulations on publishing six poems–“Swoon,” “Bedspreads,” “Right Below the Surface,” “Stevenson’s Swing,” “San Bernardino 1994,” and “Trompe L’oeil”–appeared in Cholla Needles 59.
Congrats also to Amy Shimshon-Santo, whose poem “Cemetery / Cemiterio / Cementerio” appeared on Self Help Graphics and Art.
Kudos to Sakae Manning, whose essay “Shikata Ga Nai” appeared in Gatherings: A Women Who Submit Anthology.
A shout out to Natalie Warther, whose microflash “Chicken” appeared in HAD.
On the farm we had 20 of them, each as big as a rat terrier. Our yard wasn’t ours, it was theirs, and in it they hunted bugs and ran wide legged and severed worm heads with their beaks. “Chicken” is the wrong word to describe someone who is scared. Visitors came. “We want to see the chickens,” they’d say, and I’d retreat to my room, chew on my hair, and watch from my window as all 20 birds came streaking, screaming.
Congrats to Eva Recinos, whose essay “A Still Life” appeared in Air/Light.
I knew where the queso fresco was stored. The glow of the fridge backlit the bowl, which felt cool in my hands. I carefully snuck it out and peeked into the plastic package, with one perfect slit to access the cheese. Liquid pooled at the bottom of the bowl. Mine was the type of household that respected symmetry. The type where you sliced into the cheese with the right knife and left a perfect line to signify the most recent cut.
No jagged edges or uneven sides.
A shout out to Rachael Warecki, whose essay “Craft Lessons From Cleveland: How Browns Fandom Prepared Me for the Writing Life” was published by Jaded Ibis Press.
There are some sports moments so instantly iconic—feats of athleticism that change the trajectory of a game or a series or an entire season—that they take their rightful place in history under a single proper noun. The Drive. The Fumble. The Shot. The Decision. Even people who hate sports might recognize one of these mononymic events from the photograph that helped immortalize legendary outfielder Willie Mays: the Say Hey Kid, jersey number square to the camera and glove outstretched in anticipation of The Catch.
What most people, maybe even most sports fans, don’t realize is that every single one of these instant classics has come at the expense of a Cleveland team.
Kudos to Leonora Simonovis, whose poetry collection Study of the Raft was published by University Press of Colorado. Says Victoria Chang of the collection:
“In Leonora Simonovis’s beautiful book, Study of the Raft, family history is mixed with feminist history, and what it means to be a citizen. The death of Abuela’s child intersects with what it means to be a woman, dodging “the bullets of others’ desire,” and the speaker’s sense of alienation in her own country. All of these tensions accumulate into an important geometry of American life. Simonovis’s poems are plainspoken and powerful, gentle and fierce. An impressive debut, these poems are a gift to contemporary American poetry.”
A shout out to Lisbeth Coiman, whose poem “Si me quedara muda hoy (If I fell silent today)” appeared in the inaugural issue of La Raiz Magazine.
Congratulations to Laura Sturza, whose essay “How the Pandemic Changed the Way I Feel About Milestone Birthdays” appeared in Orange Coast Magazine.
I’ve always had trouble with the nines. At 29, 39, and 49, I was acutely aware of time. At each crossover to a milestone birthday, I’d reflect on the past decade and ready myself for the one ahead with a mix of hope, curiosity, and dread. I recently turned 60. My 59th year didn’t conjure up the same worries about the next big one.
Like most of us trying to crawl out of our quarantine cocoons, my attention has been on other matters. Most of my focus was on keeping alive and healthy, along with praying others stayed well. Given the staggering losses so many people suffered during the pandemic, my reflection on the cusp of this new decade was—who cares about a higher number? Being alive is good enough for me. In lieu of the showy, pre-COVID parties I threw for myself and loved ones, I took time to consider whether turning 60 had to be a huge turning point—or if it could be something else.
Kudos to Cynthia Alessandra Briano, whose poem “Sentido contrario” appeared in Dryland. In addition, Cynthia’s poem “Stupefication” appeared in La Raíz Magazine.
Congratulations to liz gonzález, whose essay “Prickly Love” appeared in Air/Light.
A breeze blew into the kitchen from the cooler in the living room as Grandma Nellie made scrambled eggs with nopalitos (chopped prickly pear cactus paddles), chopped yellow onion, and a sprinkle of salt for my younger sister Cynthia and me. During summer breaks from elementary school, Cynthia and I spent weekdays at our mother’s parents’ home in the San Bernardino Valley. Grandma Nellie would serve us the nopalitos for breakfast or lunch, with flour tortillas made by hand and warmed over the burner flame. Cynthia and I tore the tortillas into triangles that we used to scoop our food and eat. Such a simple dish, yet so delicious.