April 2022 | poetry
After Theories of Time and Space by Natasha Trethewey
The home we knew is only memory. It repeats
without variation. We are forever young—
forever children playing in the yard: giggling, kicking stones,
chasing guineafowl, taking too long to answer mother’s call.
Mother is so much older now or in her grave, though
in the home inside you, she is always young and lovely—
dark skin glistening in the midday sun as she simmers
peanut stew and the spice-heavy aroma is carried
on the wind even across the ocean. If you take a deep breath,
Angela, you can taste the meal she prepared the last day you saw her.
Ellen June Wright
Ellen June Wright was born in England of West Indian parents and immigrated to the United States as a child. She taught high-school language arts in New Jersey for three decades before retiring. She has consulted on guides for three PBS poetry series. She was a finalist in the Gulf Stream 2020 summer poetry contest. Her work was selected as The Missouri Review’s Poem of the Week in June 2021, and she received five 2021 Pushcart Prize nominations.
April 2022 | poetry
Leave behind
fugitive clothing, rags that stink of evasion,
irreconcilable anguish,
unacknowledged fissures,
time sliced by nostalgia into frames.
Be close to the edge to know your wound your love,
your end to abide, but not in complaisance.
Do not forget to leave your handprint on a wall.
These are the conditions of possibility.
Lynn Staley
Lynn Staley is a Professor of English at Colgate University, where she teaches and writes about medieval and early modern literature and culture. However, she is also a poet and has been for many years. Her poems are representative of her awareness of place (a remnant of a Kentucky upbringing), of the intersections of the ordinary and extraordinary, and of her interest in the submerged narrative. Several years ago a poetry manuscript was short-listed for the Stan and Tom Wick Poetry Prize given by Kent State University Press. She has published in the Seneca Review, The Sow’s Ear Poetry Review, and Psaltery and Lyre.
April 2022 | poetry
I have rubber-band hands and
Where I come from everything is
Fingerfood. we break the shape
of rice on our plates and smoke
escapes from the side of our palms.
and strip down fishbones naked
when in rain, we churn aubergine
In winters we wed coco-
nuts to jaggery. Later
we stir heartburn – strikes as stiff
as cheese fried with tume-
ric. but to chilli we are
subjective. pork is eaten
but outside the home at road
side stalls with sizzling woks to
warm your pockets deep and leave
you smiling in a damp all-
ey, in our evening-old city
Sristi Sengupta
Sristi is currently studying toward her Bachelor’s qualification in English Literature and creative writing. She’s had a knack in writing fiction and poetry for years now, her debut novel, The Little Mountain (published with Olympia Publishers, UK) vouches on her interest in Tibetology and secrets of the oriental culture. Sristi works as a Marketing Author to earn a living and aspires to build a career in screenwriting as well. Her style in poetry is very personal and often has references to authors who helped her love for writing survive. Her poems are generally about the pace of life, her childhood, her experiences and emotions and her beloved home city, Kolkata.
