Guest Poetry Editor
The Tishman Review, Final Issue (literary journal)
We believe in supporting the creative endeavors of the writers of the world. We believe in connecting writers through interviews to pass on hard-earned wisdom and insights. We believe literature serves an existential function and its value to humanity is beyond measure.
Excerpts
My mother parts furrows / onto the scalp beneath / the mound of my woolly hair / scratching / (scree shee scree), / charting / rows of roads crossed / by the women before her / into my hair
—DeMisty D. Bellinger, “Sowing Season”
This is not a planetarium. Not even / a dissolution of expiration dates. My people / eat both small and large intestines, and / I respect anyone in touch with their rage.
—Cindy Juyoung Ok, “Clustering”
One year, a boy dies in the snow. I am there, // but I don’t see it. The dead boy is riding with his father on the tractor, / plowing out. He slips and the tractor keeps going.
—Sarah Payne, “What a Feeling”
Across the water, in the trees, the wind stirs. / I loved you after I didn’t.
—D. Eric Parkison, “The Common”
Araucaria trees rose high, / baobabs grew fleshy-fat with water, // and rains came and drifted and came. / Warmth transported me. / Slow rivers spooled soft.
—Marion Starling Boyer, “Perhaps I Was Eden”
Docks project into the lake / like worn boots and / the door has never been wider, / loons and bullfrogs / calling in under the canopy of day…
—Samn Stockwell, “Coates Pond”
Tumbleweeds snicked tight / against the dry pasture fence, / their foreheads to brown dirt clods, / their bare rounded twig-backs tucked / in silent prayer.
—Lisa Ashley, “He Waits Inside”
There’s only a single juniper / lit against a purple sky; / one black boulder, only one / cow trail up the creek, one way / to say love & we’ve lost it.
—Christian Woodard, “Psalm”