Editors’ Choice, February 16-22, 2018, “The Hail,” by Jacob Butlett

 

War is hell. So are PTSD and other aftermath issues. Here’s an agonizing account from Jacob Butlett. Some stunning imagery in here.

after Zbigniew Herbert

when my only son
returned from his final deployment
he had across his cheek a scar
and above the scar
a pair of blank eyes

petals of flying glass
pricked him in Iraq
the day before he turned twenty
(a bomb, he said, it was a bomb)

he tirelessly shared with me
his love for literature
but he admired most of all
the literature of the fallen

catching his breath
he asked his fallen brothers to read
Woolf Hemingway Plath

he screamed
that the falling action is near
that he has reached the climax
and then weeping admitted
that Shakespeare did not love him

my wife watched him
mumble to himself more and more
lost at the peak of desire
he became an endless chapter

into empty blue hives of eyes
entered a twin eclipse
and his bloody wrists were soon covered
with the sticky wet
bandages of my wife’s teary hands

nothing remained
but his tremulous voice

what tales
he’d crafted with his voice
in a deep tone he carried dog tags
in a soft tone his brothers’ dénouement

white shirts took my boy
and drove him out of the city
he comes back every winter
gaunt and pale
he knocks on the door
once inside, he stays away from the windows

we drink eggnog together
and he offers
the never-ending literature of his life
gripping his chipped glass
with shaky hands of hail
 
Jacob ButlettJacob Butlett holds a B.A. in Creative Writing from Loras College. Some of his work has been published or is forthcoming in Gone Lawn, Outrageous Fortune, Free Lit Magazine, Varnish, Clarion, Cold Creek Review, The Shallows, and plain china. He is an aspiring gay writer with hopes of one day receiving an MFA in Writing and Publishing.

Editors’ Choice, February 9-15, 2018, “Dear Dad,” by Emily Gates

Tough piece. Tough subject matter. This is artfully done. Emily Gates describes herself as influenced by Plath. Plain to see. We’re reminded that while emotion and poetry are connected, they’re not the same. Here’s a fine example of the connection.

I’m 14 when I learn why
they say men are dogs.
I’m playing mobile Tetris
on your phone when
the screen lights up
text message interruptus:

“Hey slut, u still workin? ;)”

Tetris ticks to quick pic:
a woman, legs wide V,
mouth wider O,
cock buried deep
in spoilt roast beef.
That’s not my mom.

I bet your boy sniffed this one
out real good. How is Sherry
by the way? And Ashley?
What about Jim? Frank?
Do you still do business
in Austin? And New York?

They your Pavlov?
Bet they can
make your boy
bark, salivate, come.
Bet your meetings are
always stiff and quick.

I bet you’d bout die,
if I called you Daddy
the way they do.
If I sent you a pic
of my ass, flat and white
like our front yard in December.

You’d howl if it were me
waiting for a turn
in a musty motel
called the Krystal Palace,
such regality reduced
to sound-stages where
sock-footed others stand
erect, bare everywhere else.
Or backed into a corner by
Linda and her sagging cellulose.
her cottage cheese thighs,
stretch marks crisscross and red.

P.S.

Don’t worry,
no one knows I know you,
or how your fucking mutt,
roots through cod carcass
for his next bitch to mount,
how they lap up the salt
of the Earth
that made me.

Emily GatesEmily Gates is currently a postgraduate student at the University of Kent in Canterbury, England. Born and raised in Atlanta, Georgia, she is deeply inspired by the bravery of the Confessional movement and considers herself an amateur Plath scholar. She is currently working on her first collection of poems.

 

 

To view previous Editors’ Choices, please select:
Van Gogh’s SunflowersAnn Howells
Biscayne Bay Lies Still, Like GlassDavid Colodney
A New Hope for a New ZionCharles McCaskill

Issue 8, Winter 2017-8

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Happy New Year to our friends in the literary community! We hope you passed the holidays in fine fashion and are looking forward to a wonderful 2018. We sure are! And to kick it off in style, we’re honored and proud to present Issue 8. Once again, it’s chock full of artistry, beauty, and fine craft from a wide array of writers. (Oddly but proudly, we boast a few pieces about fathers, particularly fathers and their tools. But not all are paeans!) We thank you for your interest in Panoply and hope you enjoy Issue 8!

If you like what you see, please consider a donation. Just use the PayPal link located in the right margin.Feel free to like our Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/panoplyzine/

Best wishes,
Andrea, Jeff, and Ryn, Co-Editors

Table of Contents

Poetry
AcceptanceMark Mansfield
The Ambassador of MirrorsRay Marsocci
and you, little birdLisa Reily
Another Massacre and Driving Home (after Nazim Hikmet)Patricia Nelson
Biscayne Bay Lies Still, Like GlassDavid Colodney
Celebrity CelibacyCarl “Papa” Palmer
Civilization in the Here and NowJohn Grey
Conversations with WaterTyrek Greene
A Day from the WindowAlexander Menachem
Dear DadEmily Gates
DepartureSue Scavo
Dinner Time in the Alzheimer’s WingSherri Wright
Driving Down the Mountain at SunsetLaura L. Mays Hoopes
ElementalAlan Girling
EmptySteve Gerson
Evening WalkJoan Mazza
Fado: The Missing KeyJoe Amaral
A Father’s ShovelFrank Babcock
The God KvasirBill Garten
Grit: The Resilience of New YorkersKathleen A. Lawrence
The HailJacob Butlett
The HarrowBill Newby
HelsinkiRobert Okaji
HiddenHannah Rousselot
How to Be a MalacologistStephanie L. Harper
In the Heaven of HopscotchAnne Higgins
In the Orcan FieldMichael Cooper
In the Women’s Locker RoomCarolyn Martin
Intersection, Midtown Atlanta Jude Marr
It Wasn’t YouSarah Brown Weitzman
KneesSandra Lindow
A Lasting RhymeRichard King Perkins II
Leaving LouisianaGeorge Such
MimaropaMichael Mira
MorticianSteven Wojtowicz
Mother TongueToti O’Brien
My GodIon Corcos
A New Hope for a New ZionCharles McCaskill
On Meeting Plato in Fairview Cemetery, Council BluffsRobert Klein Engler
Osoberry, OverripePaula Persoleo
Passing ByIrene Fick
Penny/HeartJames Croal Jackson
The Poison Garden at Alnwick CastleWilliam Reichard
PortLaura Madeline Wiseman
The PrairieBridget Fertal
PrayerDarian Kuxhouse
Rite of PassageSusan Holck
Scholars HenceMike Jurkovic
Scratch in My ThroatHannah A’Enene
SkyscapeEmman Usman Shehu
Some Things Must Be Believed to Be SeenKevin Brown
Stripping Scrap WireMichael VanCalbergh
Surviving SnappersEd McCourt
Toy ParkBeau Boudreaux
TruncatedDevon Balwit
Van Gogh’s Sunflowers Ann Howells
The WardrobeGareth Culshaw
When Someone DiesCarla Schwartz
When We Were TogetherColton McLaughlin
The WolvesAlexandra Gaines

Prose
AdjacentMercedes Lawry
FireNancy Tingley
FlaviaLinda McMullen
Fishy VisceraTee Linden
If I Could Tell YouRachel Inberg
Iowa’s PromiseChila Woychik
A LetterLeonardo Boix
Mother (Inspired by Grace Paley)Diane Gottlieb
MotivationRobert L. Penick
Open Letter, Open Sea, Open LoveChristopher Stolle
PeachesHal Ackerman
ResistanceTony Burnett
Speculative Real EstateJen Sage-Robison
TwelveScott Zeigler
The Whole Goddamn ThingHowie Good

Review of Robert Okaji’s Chapbook, “From Every Moment A Second”

Please enjoy the following review of Robert Okaji’s new chapbook, “From Every Moment A Second.” Editor-in-Chief Jeff Santosuosso examines Robert’s magical, hopeful portrayal of how things, events, and time are interrelated. We hope you will take a closer look at Robert’s work!

(This is our second chapbook review. We plan to review a new chapbook between each each of Panoply.)

OkajiChapbook

From Every Moment A Second, by Robert Okaji
Published by Finishing Line Press
ISBN 978-1-63534-331-1
20 pages
$14.99

Submitted by Jeff Santosuosso
December 2017

Those who enjoy poetry that reveals much by saying little should check out Robert Okaji’s new chapbook, From Every Moment a Second. Okaji masters white space, implication, presence and absence in this pithy yet brief collection. He mines themes of humans and nature, their adjacency and interdependence. He presents the cycles of life, of change and transformation, not only among beings themselves, but as they interact with the rest of the natural world. From this physical environment, he touches on metaphysical themes, spirituality, a heightened sense of natural order.

Suitably, he opens with “Magic,” the seen and unseen, illusion. We cannot trust our eyes. Things are, but we doubt. “You give me nothing to hold, and for this/are blessed.” So much going on here. Syntax befuddles logic, trips us up. “You” are blessed? We realize this “nothing” is not an absence, but an affirmation. Hence the blessing. Welcome to intangibility, the world beyond the physical. “Words conceal what the night cannot,” Okaji’s speaker continues, inverting perceptual convention. As if we’re attending a magic show, Okaji signals that all is not as it might appear to the untrained eye.

So he trains us. In scene after scene, he reveals the hidden, lifting the veil of convention and language to uncover what words have concealed. “Mayflies” comes in couplets, like males and females, humans and insects, ability and inability, purpose and desire. The speaker witnesses death among the mating ritual, and wonders, “still I dream of flight.” “Take Away” catches us off-guard with the near-realism of “the economy of dying.” The speaker laments things taken away: “Grief enriches no one,” yet closes with the agonizing image of a mother “cradling pain in both arms,” while “The second shares her shadow.” Relationships, comparative anguish – these are laid bare for us to interject ourselves, a masterful drawing in, literary magic. We begin to understand the sleight of hand, the craft.

The legerdemain twists like a tongue in cheek, particularly in “Runaway Bus,” an unlikely treatment of a chest cold, ironically a fresh, light breath among deep inhalations. Even the chapbook title, excerpted from “Flame,” is a bit of a pun. “Second” is not a portion of time. It is a descendant, progeny. This verbal game reminds us of the emphasis on relationships, cause and effect, development. Later, “Latitude” revisits the age-old conundrum about chickens and eggs, this time a playful tangent, complete with a frying pan, salt, and butter. “What Feet Know” reminds us at first of our childhood innocence, but compels acknowledgement of how darkness defines the light.

“To the Light Entering the Shack One December Evening” is the masterpiece of the journey, a study in light and darkness, life and death, presence and absence. Even the impermanent affirms beyond mortality. The speaker sees that “The pear tree’s ghost shudders./Water pools in the depression of its absence.” Following the heartbreaking “Bottom Falling,” a tender study on the loss of death, this indirect piece reveals by questioning. “Will you leave if I open the door?” The speaker illuminates, partially, cloaking his revelation with, “You are not death, but its closest friend.”

“The Resonance of No,” with its ominous title, pairs the quotidian and tangible with the metaphysical and intangible. His speaker muddles through a day, unable or perhaps unwilling to shake himself of the relentless administrative demands of his father’s death. Even the date he will visit the grave is unclear, but the speaker cannot escape this call. For all our daily cares consume, we must face truths, confront our mortality, feel the pit in our stomachs as we recognize the pull of the superordinate.

Breath, smoke, and breeze dominate “Every Wind.” Those wisps come and go, as if cloaked and revealed, first fixed in our vision, then disappearing. Each breath is life-giving, but it must be followed by a “second.” Okaji instructs, “Every wind loses itself/no matter where/it starts.” If we fail the next breath, we perish. The speaker suffers, his “Grief ages one thread at a time,” as he searches for someone. That someone could be anyone. No matter, the poem is about the pining. The deceased has lost itself like the wind. In “With No Mountain in View,” the speaker reminisces, nearly luxuriating, then snaps back from his fantasy as “A crow flaps away.” Departure, breezes, and motion resulting from wing flaps, the essential act of a bird, carry us away. We’re not even sure where we’re going, how the magician pulled off the trick. The speaker’s moment is “seconded” by uncertainty, but seconded nonetheless. Even in departure and absence, we find ourselves in a new here.

“Privilege” clarifies Okaji’s theme beyond doubt. “Every hour becomes another” opens the piece, a flag in otherwise shifting ground, as clarifying as “Strong coffee, books. A smile.” We can rely on those, they’re dependable. His speaker has found confidence, in the presence of a loved one, “as the lights go out/and we wonder when they’ll return,/not if.” Here, the future looms, although Okaji steps back, realizing that, “Anything can happen, and frequently does.” The title works hard, revealing the optimism and near-immortality the speaker expresses. Yet he’s ready for uncertainty. The “second” is the privilege, no matter what it brings. The future is coming, unclear as it may be, it is. Even in times of loss and separation, we can rely on something to follow. With assertion, he and his loved one “open the door and step out, unhindered.”

The work crescendos in the aforementioned “Flame,” a study on the endurance of the human spirit amid hardship. “On the Burden of Flowering” pushes the envelope, straight from the title. The burden? The speaker’s marigold had been dying. “Today it/stands tall./Yellowing.” Is this life or death? Triumph or defeat? Why must the flower pursue its fatal duty? That is the burden of flowering, one the marigold assumes without hesitation.

“Two Cranes on a Snowy Pine (after Hokusai)” returns to the interdependence of things in nature. “Who knows where bird/begins and tree/ends” pulls us into a place of peace, of things and their environment. Like the marigold, the cranes assume their own burden, amid the threat of winter. Yet there they are. Okaji then shifts from the pine to the oak, this time a rotting one in “Firewood,” a seemingly immortal tree, huge, having survived burdens no man ever could. There, but soon to disappear – at the speaker’s respectful hand. The human interprets his world, his humble place within it, bounded by things mightier than he could ever be, yet participating in their disappearance. Yet this respect, this near-reverie assures us that that moment will be followed by a second. The work closes with “To the Lovely Green Beetles Who Carried My Notes into the Afternoon,” a study in acknowledgement and gratitude, a recognition of order, of how the speaker’s words are carried off “never to be assembled,/and better for it.” There can be no doubt. Their impermanence is not futile. Nor have they perished. Nor are they mortal. “Such beauty should not be bound,” we read, recognizing that their passing has left its mark. From that moment, a second has been born.

This brief work uncovers deep themes with a light touch, uplifting the physical to reveal the metaphysical, offering that things relate in place and time, with mortality not more than a breath, a wisp of smoke, here then gone as moments and things have seconds.
Robert OkajiRobert Okaji lives in Texas. His work has appeared in such publications as Mockingheart Review, Eclectica and Otoliths, and can also be found on his blog, https:robertokaji.com.

Issue 7 – Summer, 2017 (Double Issue!)

Poppy

Issue 7 sets a precedent for Panoply. Actually, a few. The bounty of works here in this double issue is due of course, to a bounty of deserving work by our contributors. We cast a wider net during our calls for submissions, receiving about 3 times our historical norm! You’ll notice a whole section for prose, and as you scroll, some great works by young writers. In fact, we’re proud once again to debut some wonderful new voices (regardless of their age).

Since there’s so much, here are some browsing tips (in order of appearance):

  • Humor – Downgrade, This Isn’t the Story I Intended to Write, The Waffle House Index, Zeng Shangyou
  • Love/Romance – My Lover and I
  • Pastoral/Nature – Looking Down on Newgale Beach, Path, Perfect Rain, Zen Garden at the Museum of Fine Arts
  • Social/Political – Karuizawa Tales, Like a King
  • Edgy – Cage Match, Finals, Stalker in Orange, Tawny Kitten
  • Characters – Dear Harold, Everyday Blessings, Firebrand, A Girl Called Rose, Mrs. Neustead, Prize Fighter, White Sheets, You, Frank & Mia & Me, Heroes, Loving Spoonful, Padlock, Patriots, A Slice of Lemon on the Side
  • Loss/Death – Intuition, Lament, Moth-Hour, Nowhere, South Dakota, Poem for Honduras, Proper Etiquette for the First Year of Mourning, You

As always, we thank our contributors for uplifting us! And we thank our readers for giving us purpose. Feel free to tell your friends and give us feedback! Look for Issue 8 around year-end.

Best wishes,
Andrea, Jeff, and Ryn, Co-Editors

Poetry

The actor who only gets to play a hitmanJonathan Jones
AfterPatricia Anderson
AfterbloomLawdenmarc Decamora
and the crows fallAM Roselli
Astronautics (or, an email I sent to neil degrasse tyson while sitting in whole foods)Lily Tice
The Berryman TrickTim Kahl
camera obscuraClaudia Radmore
CezannePatricia Nelson
Cheri’s Montana Lounge, Chester, MontanaMichelle Hartman
CornflowerMadison White
(the crisp settle of the door)Dennis Reavis
Elkhorn AvenueCameron Morse
Escape from EllenvilleMike Jurkovic
Everyday BlessingsSally Zakariya
FirebrandThomas McDade
Folclore Tale Leonardo Boix
FragileMary McKeel
A Girl Called RoseBella Smith
The GuitaristSteven Reese
A Haiku YearKendra Leonard
Harvest MoonJared Pearce
Home RemediesJohn Repp
How Long is this Sentence?Gary Twynam
Interlude at a Closed Chevron, 11:42 pmAlicja Zapalska
IntuitionLaura Foley
An InvitationPaul Lubenkov
Karuizawa TalesRobert Hoffman
Kathleen Remembers the Flood John Grey
LamentAnne Whitehouse
Late Night Talk Show FantasyJennifer Dotson
Like a KingIon Corcos
Looking Down on Newgale BeachRobert Nisbet
The Man Cooks Greens While Thinking of WordsTobi Alfier
Moth-HourClaire Scott
Mrs. NeusteadJim Zola
Nowhere, South DakotaAndrew Kruse-Ross
NumbersIsabella Colalillo Katz
The Oboe Will Shine TomorrowDevon Balwit
The Old In-Out In-OutYu-Han Chao
Once Upon a TimeBaisali Chatterjee Dutt
PassengerCharles Kell
PathSteve Gerson
Perfect RainTerry Brix
Poem for HondurasHeather Truett
A Priest and an Indian Walk Into a BarJessica Mehta
Prize FighterMartin Hopson
Proper Etiquette for the First Year of MourningJacqueline Jules
Rich Farm Land Drew Settlers to HessRyan Clark
Running at 6:45 on a mid-November morningBrett Cortelletti
Sunflower GhostsRobin Gow
Swift ActionG. Louis Heath
TestamentDeborah L. Davitt
Touch This ElephantRobert Beveridge
TransfusionVirginia Boudreau
Van Gogh Paints a Self-PortraitAnn Howells
The Waffle House Index, or: (if the Waffle House is closed the populace is shrinking) – John McCracken
Walking Stick, A PrayerKeith Moul
WaveAlan Gann
What I’ve LostCarl Boon
Where My Muse Comes FromDaryl Sznyter
While You Were Trying To Be Cool I Was Snorting Flintstone ChewablesKristian Kuhn
White SheetsShelby Curran
Winter PlungeEileen Malone
YouAnthony Carl
Zeit HeistNick Romeo
Zen Garden at the Museum of Fine ArtsMary Buchinger

Prose

The Bedouin Woman’s SmileNektaria Petrou
Cage Match Jodi Sh. Doff
The DapRosanne Ehrlich
Dear HaroldChristine Seifert
DowngradeLois Morrison
FinalsMarie Anderson
For SummerAnusha Srinivasan
Frank & Mia & MeCharles Leipart
HeroesBlake Benson
Letters from My GrandsonsSherri Wright
Loving SpoonfulAlexander Jones
The Moonshine RubyTravis Kennedy
My Lover and IMaggie Boals
One Smoothie is a TragedyMatt Dube
OverheadSoramimi Hanarejima
PadlockBeth Gordon
PatriotsStephen O’Donnell
A Slice of Lemon on the SideKristen Olsen
SpillageG. Emil Reutter
Stalker in OrangeMaddie Woda
Tawny KittenTina Bubonovich
This Isn’t the Story I Intended to WriteGuy Biederman
TollboothKelsey Maki
Wild Cat Menagerie and Great Intercourse CircusCatherine Moore
Winter Plunge Eileen Malone
Zeng ShangyouJack Feerick

Review of Jami Macarty’s Chapbook, “Landscape of The Wait”

Please enjoy the following review of Jami Macarty’s new chapbook, “Landscape of The Wait.” Co-editor Andrea Walker takes us through Macarty’s poetic impressions of a life-changing series of events. We hope you will take a closer look at Jami’s work!

(We’re thrilled to provide this review service to our audience and plan to review chapbooks three times a year, about midway between issues of Panoply.)

Landscape Cover Shot

Landscape of The Wait by Jami Macarty
Published by Finishing Line Press
ISBN 978-1-63534-235-2
32 pages

Submitted by Andrea Walker
June, 2017

In her succinct collection of poetry, Landscape of The Wait, poet Jami Macarty’s speaker’s nephew William lies critically injured, in a coma after a horrific automobile accident on the interstate. His family gathers near day after day waiting and hoping for his recovery. As months drag by and his condition does not improve, family members try to understand what’s happening to him as well as to themselves. In thirty-two pages of twenty-two poems, Macarty effectively takes the reader through the stages of grief and acceptance of an incomprehensible situation.

As the inhabitants of the poetry find themselves confused and in shock the overriding conflict exists in the helplessness of the speaker in the poems. It is fitting that what seems inaccessible in the poems at first comes strangely alive with the second and third reading. The opening poem “Fracture” describes the unfathomable reality of the occurrence. In this landscape of waiting with “no change,” the subconscious hovers between life and death perhaps heaven and earth, but the words are clear “truth can go different ways,” “three suns/ no change/ no change/ no change,” “is he leaning into healing or receding.”  The structure of “Fracture” literally illustrates the concept of fractured with white space on the page, stanzas in columns, some readable across or down, fragments of thoughts and phrases, repetition that questions or emphasizes. “Fracture” paints the bleak landscape and sets the tone for the fragmented lives represented in the poetry.

In her attempt to make sense of the tragedy, the poet puts herself and the reader into the mind of the young man, imagining with keen perception what could be going on, for example, in the third poem “At the Time of the Accident”:

airborne, he thought. hang-
ing on time’s lost line
suffer suspension,
he thought. near-sighted
horizon. no or-
dinary flying  
falling, he thought. lain
unregainable
in median grass.
reconsider mind-
lessness, he thought.”

She courageously endeavors to inhabit his mind and understand what humans can never know: the mind of another, especially of one who has suffered trauma.

Another aspect of the subconscious is the dream, which the poet uses effectively throughout the collection. Dreams are innately metaphorical, and the “leaky ship” of “First Dream Since” adeptly explains “the space too small … to contain their what’s happened,” speaking to both the overwhelming situation and deference given to William’s mother. Later, Macarty extends the metaphor of life as ship, in this case despite the muddy circumstances of being stranded “Aground,” with the hope of waking up, and “the sea will be a magic again.”

Coma, limbo, dream – all states of in-between – where the participants linger with unacceptable loss of control. Humans want to fix things. Opposing the inability to correct the situation lies the reality in which life goes on. A ventilator becomes the mother doing for the child what the mother cannot. The imagery of baking bread offers a fleeting moment of comfort, and “the leaves fall … whether we see them or not.” Always the contradiction of daily living and surreal exists. The situation demands balance alluding again to the landscape in-between. The fluctuation between concrete and abstract show the inhabitants of Macarty’s poems caught between worlds. Are variables concrete possibilities or abstract? The outcome of the equation must balance (or else it’s not an equation).

In “New Vocabulary” characters are entering an alien land and learning a foreign language – the Latin of medicine and diagnoses. However, William is not learning that language, nor is he part of what’s happening to him despite the writer’s repeated efforts to get inside his consciousness.

Dreams continue to mark phases of mourning versus acceptance. “Second Dream Since” represents denial or hope, picturing things the way they were before. Three months into the narrative, the mother withdraws from others perhaps because she’s experiencing his withdrawal from her. Imagery of map and lost key become metaphor for finding one’s way back, unlocking closed doors. A juxtaposition of abstract enchantment and fresh peaches hammers home the conflict between hope and despair.

“Winter Field” presents another bleak landscape with funereal subtleties, a hint at closure. The poetry attempts to restore order to chaos, to graphically and concretely explicate the accident in detail, the loose lug nuts and, it could have gone badly even with the seat belt, its causes and effects, along with the survivor’s effort to fix things. From the last poem in the collection, the “If Only What If” questions will always be with us:

“if only you hit snooze
what if mid-leaving you slow to feed your fish
if only one thousandth of a second
what if one billionth of a second
if only the car keys slipped between seats
what if the car’s battery needed a jump start”

Their relevancy is felt every day.

In her heartfelt work, Macarty offers a satisfactory resolution where there is no resolution. Her instinctual writing illustrates the coping mechanism of human spirit. By sharing her suffering with the reader, she has written a tribute to her nephew and offered empathy for the human condition.

Jami B:W HeadshotJami Macarty is the author of two chapbooks: LANDSCAPE OF THE WAIT (Finishing Line Press, 2017) and MIND OF SPRING, winner of the 2017 Vallum Chapbook Award (forthcoming fall 2017). She teaches contemporary poetry and creative writing at Simon Fraser University, edits the online poetry journal The Maynard, and writes Peerings & Hearings–Occasional Musings on Arts in the City of Glass, a blog series for Anomaly (FKA Drunken Boat). She is a recipient of financial support from Banff Centre and BC Arts Council, a Pushcart Prize nominee, a finalist for the 2017 Robert Kroetsch Award, and the winner of the 2016 Real Good Poem Prize. Her poems appear in 2016-17 issues of Blood Orange Review, CV2, EVENT, The Fiddlehead, Grain, Minola Review, Prism international, Rabbit Catastrophe Review, and Vallum: Contemporary Poetry. For more info: http://www.jamimacarty.com.

Issue 6, “Daylight” Theme, Spring 2017

Old Stuff 570

Photo courtesy of Andrea Walker

Welcome back to Panoply. We’re thrilled and honored to share our first themed issue, this one related to “daylight.” Our contributors responded with inspiration, which we hope will prove illuminating. So many of these pieces bask in the light, but a few may surprise you. Daylight can play many roles. Enjoy exploring the dark side of the light.

Once again, we thank our readers, our contributors, our benefactors, and all of you who share in our joy in creating and sharing Panoply

Issue 7 will arrive in the fall, un-themed. Look for that Call for Submissions to open in late June. And don’t forget we’re now reviewing chapbooks, with our first review nearly secured for later this month. In the meantime, take a breath, take a walk, soak up a little Vitamin D. Happy reading.

Please like our Facebook page: Facebook Panoply Page

Best wishes,

Andrea, Jeff, and Ryn
Editors, Panoply

images

Contents
Anoesis – John C. Mannone
April Morning – Virginia Barrett
Arrival – Robert Miltner
As the Parking Lots Lights Flicker – Ki Russell
August – William Blome
Blackbird: Watcher in the Desert – Delores Merrill
Blown Away – Joan McNerney
By the Light of Dawn – Natalie Crick
Chasing Pictograms – Richard King Perkins II
Covered – Sarah Clauson
Daffodils for Papa – Mikaela Curry
Dawn – Sarah Snyder
day – light savings – Ren Weber
Day/ Breaks – Julie Naslund
December Daylight – Patricia Nelson
Desert Wild Flowers – Mike Beck
devil as night / god as day Kris Tammer
Glance – Barbara Lawhorn
Gulls – J. Thomas Burke
Harbinger – Jenifer DeBellis
Heliotrope – Cathryn Essinger
In a Winter Window – Susan Huebner
It’s Like This – Ivy Page
Joy – Jenny Benjamin
Keske XIV – Jennifer A. Reimer
A Lace Stone Wall at Randall’s Ordinary – Eleanor Kedney
Little Birds – Lauren Scharhag
Marriage – Michael Blaine
Morning – Aaron Dargis
Morning – K. Carlton Johnson
Morning in the North Country – Tom Montag
Nankoweap – Rick Kempa
Natural Light – Neil Leadbeater
New Year’s Day Miscalculation – Lynn Houston
Northwest Winter Day – Joan Moritz
On the Funeral of a Rice Farmer – Ryan Thorpe
Once Planed Straight – Steve Gerson
One Memory I Had of Summer – Gina Ferrara
Past Noon – Ann Howells
Patterns of Intimacy – Heather Gemmen Wilson
Phengophilia – Michael Estabrook
Photo of Mom on the Beach 1950 – Kathleen Strafford
Poems – Lola Haskins
The Position of the Sun – Sabrina Hicks
Rain Delay – Early Innings – Bruce Robinson
Self-Portrait – Kirsten Hemmy
A Shaft of Sunlight – Patrick Dixon
Silly Drunk Mentioning – Kristin Fullerton
Soham – Lloyd Milburn
Sunken Ships on Fire – Devon Balwit
Sunrise on Llŷn – Aziz Dixon
Synthesis – Carol Berg
The Third Wish: New Dawn – Rachel Dacus
This Morning – Steve Klepetar
This World’s Light – Lois Harrod
Thursdays, 4-7 – Mercedes Lawry
Venusian Engagement – Rachel Reese
vulture sets the world ablaze – Sanjida Yasmin
Wedding Portraits – Diane Kendig
Welcome – Mary Ellen Talley