Caroline Rowe (née Zimmer) is a Pushcart Prize nominated poet whose work has appeared or is forthcoming in publications including The Raw Art Review, Harbinger Asylum, Cathexis Northwest, and The Jabberwock Review, where she was nominated for the Nancy D. Hargrove Editor’s Prize. She has also been anthologized in The Maple Leaf Rag (Portals Press). Her debut chapbook, God’s Favorite Redhead, is forthcoming from Lucky Bean Press. She is a lifelong resident of the French Quarter in New Orleans.
Brigitte Stepanov is a writer, translator, and photographer. Broadly, her photos fall into two categories: the environment and the representation of public mourning. Both facets of her work are preoccupied with memory, minute documentation, and the building of a fastidious archive – be it to collect reminders of the smallest of mosses or the finest of brickwork in a commemorative monument. Among other venues, her work has been exhibited at the Granoff Center for the Creative Arts and the Houston Center for Photography. Her upcoming photography exhibit, “Why I’ll Always Dream of Poland,” attempts to bridge the gap between private experiences and public sites of inhuman violence. Brigitte’s upbringing took place in a few different places and she moved to the US to pursue her graduate studies. She holds a PhD from Brown University and is currently a Mellon Postdoctoral Fellow at Grinnell College. She is in the midst of writing a book about contemporary textual and visual representations of war in Algeria, Rwanda, and France.
Last chance to save the Norwalk whales I learn via email—subject line only—then delete from the passenger seat while the toddler stands and drives far too fast for someone who can’t see past the dash. We’re both bored of the living room, of his abandoned baby toys, maybe, too, of each other, but the outside air smells of our futures, incinerating, and the parks are all slung with caution tape, their swings swung round the cross bars out of reach. Instead, I hold the keys in-hand while we drive nowhere into the empty expanse of late morning.
We are out of time / we have all the time.
Panda sock-toes curled to the edge of the captain’s seat, he leans and veers and vroooms while I wonder at the ash of ancient redwood bark, invisible until it settles, offset by the dark hood, the windshield, the tinpot roof overhead. Something you don’t see until it’s there. Neighbors walk by, laugh at my chauffeur who waves merrily. A mayor on small-town parade. He’s forgotten about the horn from last time, blessed be, but not the four-ways—never. Knows a good red triangle to see one. They blink throughout our entire drive, battery leeching its last begotten energy:
Geoff Martin is a CNF contributing editor at Barren Magazine. His place-based and environmental essays have appeared most recently in Boulevard, The Common, Slag Glass City, and Creative Nonfiction and have been nominated for two Pushcart Prizes. Originally from southwestern Ontario, Geoff now lives in San Francisco. He can be found online on Twitter @gmartin9 or at www.geoff-martin.com.
Issue 99, published July 2021, features works of poetry, flash fiction, short nonfiction, and photography by Desi Allevato, Melissa Andres, Bordnick, Lawrence Bridges, Trent Busch, Alexandra T. O. Cooley, Natalie Coufal, Chella Courington, Lana Eileen, Caroline Fernelius, Ann Fischer, Nathan Gentry, E Laura Golberg, Alan Hill, Michael Hower, Kent Jacobson, James F. Latin, K. L. Johnston, Melissa Knox, Alex Lee, M. Ocampo McIvor, Robert Nisbet, Marijean Oldham, Marlene Olin, Anika Pavel, Shawn Pfunder, Sherry Mossafer Rind, Jim Ross, Caroline N. Simpson, Eric Stiefel, Lisa J. Sullivan, Steven Turrill, William Welch, Connie Wieneke, Linda Wimberly, Jean Wolff.
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