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Cover Vecteezy
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
Gently, my tender toes tiptoe
over grainy, hard ground. Warmth
rising in tiny patches
from last night’s rainfall. Clasping
the yellow watering can with care,
I tilt its fresh contents
into the waiting dirt, giving
what little of life I have to offer.
Leaves, soft and furry, catching tips
of my fingers. Sun, gentle and bright,
catching strands of orange-copper
as I lean forward, stroking stalks
filled with life. Fingertips
to my nose now—
fragrance, familiar and ripe.
Smell of sweet
and something else.
Just one lies on the vine.
An orange little sun streaked with yellow.
On its skin, a little map
of dividing lines, set hard
on the surface. I’ve wavered so long.
Now, I pluck this bulb,
wrestling it resolutely from its true mother.
Holding it in my palm, squeezing
the taut skin slightly, I press
a crevice. Juice wells up, flows.
I made this in a way,
with my offering of water,
my daily barefoot walk. But
I also know I didn’t.
That I have nothing
to do with this miracle.
I think of all the heartbroken women
and wonder if I’ve—unwittingly—
made myself one of them.
I walk back inside, orb in hand,
place it gently on a plate,
feeling somewhat proud. Until
the aching emptiness engulfs me,
drowning slowly
into strangled rage—
a sorrow I cannot name.
The road slithers
into the night, snaps
us on a straight line
melted white ruler keeping us steady
I look left to you,
wondering
if the dream hidden in your eyes
will keep us alive
To the right,
the skyline scatters itself
in shards,
the blur dizzying
and wild.
Thrilling.
The chameleon sitsgreenon agreen leaf
redon ared rock.
Borders bleeding
boundaries being
deprived of themselves
The colors—they want their own magic—
pressed up against | each others’ soft edges.
/It’s so hard
being brown (when yellow screams to get out)
being pink (when the black sits heavy)
in anoffice
at aparty
with alover
or astranger
I always wished to be a rainbow—all those bright colors
separated | working together for beauty.
The rainbow is certain of itself.
I rush to touch it
but my hand comes away clean
Please, pull this pain from my breasts,
nipples now too tender to touch
from so much play so needed
Loosen tightness where my spine
meets my hips, I want to worship with rhythm,
dance an altar between us
Make my mouth open gently,
have my heart follow suit
the way it lights up when you’re in one,
All smart, mystery leaking,
naked skin hidden
just beneath those fine threads
I want to return to my body’s waves
where the muscle meets the horizon
and the cold is far far below where I cannot touch it
I want to play in our sheets, waking
to want us, shyness thrust off like covers
exposing salt, heat, and sweat
I want to kiss you like I mean it, mouth hungry
for more, circles circling each other, connecting
like rings, fingers clasping like mouths
I want to lay in the stillness, my spine
curved to your muscle, your arms
firmly around me
So when you touch me, it no longer hurts
I have been drowning without waves—our cold
blinding me from being, but I can see the horizon
here now, we’re in it
Soft and melting, like a sunset over ocean
bright enough for our souls to light again,
the fire lit and skimming past skin
Ocean, large
then little, lunging
at me, a child hugging with ferocity,
wrapping
herself around my legs,
the foaming
grip
a white announcement
to come and play. She beckons,
a best friend, looping lovingly
up
on to the grainy shore and
back
into herself,
her sparkling, impish, endless eyes await
Plunging
in beyond sand,
my knees,
my hands
becoming wet, I follow
into her cosmos, splashing spilling
secrets and swapping kisses her
calming balming watery wisdom
washing over me a devoted magical mother
soaking salty salves
into quiet cracked places
a sacred song
floating
inhaling
the entire universe through salt
feeling namelessly alive
but
deep within me I feel the sadness churning
the longing
to have come here sooner
to have connected more often
to myself or the ocean
I do not know
I do not understand
their separation
Nicole Justine Reid is an emerging poet. Her poetry has been long-listed for the 2020 Fish Publishing Poetry Prize, shortlisted for the 2019 Bridport Prize, won first place for Free Form Poetry in the 2019 San Mateo County Fair, and is published in The Santa Clara Review and the Carry the Light anthologies, Vols II, III, and IV. She loves immersing herself in the salt of the sea and in an ocean of words.