The Long Exhale

by Christopher Clauss

I will not die
while I can still hear her say,
“Daddy”
while there are plans for family vacation
languishing on the kitchen table,
dandelions in the yard waiting to be blown

There will be no slipping quietly
no tolling of bells to be pondered

Her dresses are pink and twirly
the way she likes them
She will not be pleased to wear formal black
to sit quietly and not play by the coffin
or pluck petals from each bouquet

I will breathe
whether lungs consent or refuse
There will be pictures of us
taken tomorrow
moments next summer that will etch themselves
into our eyes
traditions that we will start when she is older

and she will learn to carry on
the way I learned to carry on
to close our eyes
and remember

Christopher Clauss is an introvert, Ravenclaw, father, poet, and middle-school science teacher from Keene, NH. He has represented New Hampshire six times at the National Poetry Slam as a member of the Slam Free or Die poetry slam team. His work explores the bliss and turmoil of faith, parenting, teaching, marriage, and community in rural New Hampshire. Christopher’s poems have been published in Gingerbread RItual, Bombfire Lit, Slamchop, and Recipes for the Resistance from Pizza Pi Press. His mother believes his poetry is “just wonderful.” Both of his daughters declare that he is the “best daddy they have,” and his pre-teen science students rave that he is “Fine, I guess. Whatever.” Karen Shimizu is not fond of writing bios. She loves to draw, paint, cook, garden and play cello, but does none of those things professionally. Professionally, she is the executive editor of Food & Wine magazine. She lives with her family in Birmingham, Alabama.

What to Say

by Talya Jankovits

Three months into the pandemic,
I tried to return the library books, but
there was a tape over the slot,
the sign said no returns accepted.

Thirty books grabbed from the library
the last day it was open
now live with us;
our last connection
to the outside world.

Everything is happening outside of our home.
The five of us are in this together,
(I say five, because Daniel gets to leave.)

I am raising four girls.
I want them to be anti-racist.
I want them to be good people.
I want them to stand up.
And it is all I can do to
get a moment
to go to the bathroom by myself.

I put Mara to bed at the end of the day,
exhausted.
She asks me to read her
Princess Cupcake Jones
By Ylleya Fields.

All day, I am speechless.
I open the book.
For the first time
since this morning,
I know exactly what to say.

Talya Jankovits’ work has appeared in Tablet, Kveller, Bartleby Snopes, Hevria, Lilith, Literary Mama, The Jewish Literary Journal, and The Citron Review, among others. Her short story, “Undone,” in Lunch Ticket was nominated for the 2013 Pushcart prize. Her poem, “A Woman of Valor,” is featured in the 2019/2020 Eshet Hayil exhibit at Hebrew Union College Los Angeles. She holds her MFA in Creative Writing from Antioch University and resides in Chicago with her husband and four daughters. Karen Shimizu is not fond of writing bios. She loves to draw, paint, cook, garden and play cello, but does none of those things professionally. Professionally, she is the executive editor of Food & Wine magazine. She lives with her family in Birmingham, Alabama.

Mother’s Day Part Seven

by Laura Sminchak

Tucking my patient into bed,
I take his temperature once more,
praying the thermometer will give
some indication it is broken
or joking.

I am a ghost slinking to the yard,
finding a flower bed buried under
layers of English ivy and weeds.
A long-forgotten trowel left alongside
a child’s green plastic rake.

Oh, that day–
pregnant and coaxing my white-haired toddler
to say “dirt” as we planted milkweed
for the butterflies.
He could not find his words.
I could not find mine either,
anxiety clutching at my throat,
heavy as stone on my chest.

Obstacles were intruders
on a carefully curated course.
We settle ourselves to the
ebb and flow of complication–
relentless icy waves and the
gentle slosh of bathwater,
an ocean that is never still
and never ending.

I drop my shovel and
take off my gloves
unceremoniously.
I have lost the light.

Maybe it is not the virus.
We will have no results for days.
In times such as these,
is it better to suffer or to wait to suffer?
Impossible to say.
Will you watch it all pass,
not leaving any part of you
lodged deep
in the filthy muck of it?

White-haired silent boy
I could not leave you there.
You are of me,
connected with two heavy cords
called Hope and Despair,
grown from my blood and my cells,
diamonds, steel, and other unbreakable things,
braided thickly with sacrifice and joy
in equal measure.
But with arms around your impossibly burning body,
even bound together like this,
we are very small.

Laura Sminchak’s work has appeared in From Whispers to Roars and Academy of the Heart and Mind.  She lives in Ohio and is a licensed attorney.  When she is not writing, you can find her adventuring with her young children and drinking an embarrassing amount of coffee. Karen Shimizu is not fond of writing bios. She loves to draw, paint, cook, garden and play cello, but does none of those things professionally. Professionally, she is the executive editor of Food & Wine magazine. She lives with her family in Birmingham, Alabama.

Life Sings on

by Chandra Gurung

गीत गाइरहन्छ जीवन

भूकम्पले भत्काएको घरको झ्यालमा
आएर हरियो पहाड बस्छ
उजाड बगैँचातिर उज्यालो छ्याप्दै घाम हिँड्छ
बनैभरि सुगन्ध छर्दै बतास उड्छ
कतै केही नभए झैँ बगिरहन्छन् खोलाहरू
झुमिरहन्छन् बोटबिरुवाहरू

क्षितिजको चहकिलो ऐनामा
हिमालले हिमपहिरोमा चोक्टिएको आफ्नो मुख हेर्छ
कुनै रोगी बच्चालाई खुसी पार्नझैँ
ताराहरूअँध्यारोमा झिलमिलाउँछन्
झमक्क साँझ, थकित भरियालाई बाटो देखाउन
आइपुग्छ आकासमा चहकिलो जून

हृदयको अन्तरकुन्तर
उमङ्गका चराचुरुङ्गी उडिरहन्छन्
खडेरीग्रस्त मुटुमा रहरका पालुवाहरू हुर्किरहन्छन्
बैलुनवालाको वरिपरि बच्चाहरू झुम्मिएझैँ
परेली छेउछाउ थुप्रिन्छन् उज्यालाहरू

छातीभित्र जोसिलो हावाको झोँका पस्छ
आँसुको वर्षातमा पनि समयले नयाँ उदेश्य हिँड्छ
सुख्खाले खाएको डाँडामाथि ईन्द्रेनी सजिदिन्छ
एक्लो पहाडलाई अँगालोमा बेर्न
दूर देशबाट आइपुग्छ मायालु बादलको हूल

समस्याहरू जेल्लिरहन्छन्
यात्राहरू भत्किरहन्छन्
तर हरेक बिहान आशको नयाँ घाम उदाउँछ
डढेलोले खाएको ठुटोमाथि बसेर एउटा चरीझैँ
गीत गाइरहन्छ जीवन !

The green mountains come and sit
On the window, left wrecked by the earthquake
The sun moves, scattering light over the desolate garden
The wind blows, wafting fragrance all over the woods
The rivers flow of their own accord
As though nothing untoward has happened anywhere
The plants and trees sway nonchalantly.

In the bright mirror of the horizons
The mountain glances at its own face mauled by an avalanche
The stars twinkle in the dark
Seemingly trying to appease a sick child
The moon appears in the sky at deepening dusk
To show the weary porter his way

In some corner of the heart
Birds of excitement keep flying
Spouts of wishes spring in the dry heart,
Light throngs around the eyelashes
Like children gathering around a balloon-man.

A waft of a zealous wind enters the heart
Time moves with newer ambitions even in a rain of tears
The rainbow blossoms over the mountain, beset by drought
A band of clouds reaches from a distant land
To embrace the lonely mountain in its bosoms.

Problems tangle
Journeys halt
But the sun, every morning, rises with newer hopes
Like a bird on a charred stump of a tree
Life keeps on singing a song!

Chandra Gurung is a Bahrain-based Nepali poet. His anthology was published in 2007. He has translated many Hindi, English, and Arabic poets to Nepali, and Nepali poets to Hindi. His poems and articles have appeared in More of my beautiful Bahrain, Snow Jewel, Collection of Poetry and Prose complied by Robin Barratt (UK), Warscapes.com and leading dailies in Nepal. Karen Shimizu is not fond of writing bios. She loves to draw, paint, cook, garden and play cello, but does none of those things professionally. Professionally, she is the executive editor of Food & Wine magazine. She lives with her family in Birmingham, Alabama.