In the Current with Siobhan Jean-Charles Issue 19

Dear Reader, 

Issue 19 was launched in autumn 2023 and the poems within are equally dynamic and breathtaking. Jacarandas are crushed on a highway, northern winds carry wildfire smoke and a spider gives birth in the darkness of a garage.

Chelsea Dingman published a third poetry collection, titled “I, Divided” from LSU Press (2023). She recently published poems in The Missouri Review, Hayden’s Ferry Review and Electric Literature.

Jenny Munro-Hunt published a chapbook titled “Towards a Radical Tenderness” (Black Cat Press, 2025).

M M Porter published poems in Epiphany Magazine.

Marisa Lainson published poems in Poetry Northwest, Palette Poetry and Harbor Review.

Catherine Weiss published a poem in Sixth Finch, Maine Public Radio, HAD and other literary magazines.

Jennifer K Sweeney published poems in Waxwing Journal and About Place Journal.

Emily Patterson was a finalist for the 2024 Sweet Lit poetry contest and was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She has poems published or forthcoming in Sweet Lit, North American Review, SWIMM and elsewhere.  

Melody Wilson published poems in West Trade Review, Rust and Moth, One Art and more.

Vanessa Ogle published essays in Business Insider and The Metropolitan Review and published a poem in Allium.

Ruth Williams has poems published or forthcoming in The Southern Review, Sixth Finch, Jet Fuel Review and elsewhere.  

Jill Klein published poems in The Southern Review and Leon Literary Review. 

Terin Weinberg published a poem in Press 53. 

Heather Truett was recently nominated for a Pushcart Prize and is a PhD student at Florida State University. She recently published poems in Summerset Review and Contrary Magazine and published fiction in Flash Fiction Online. 

Bill Hollands published poems in the Jack Straw Writers Anthology, Laurel Review, Tupelo Quarterly and more. 

Derek JG Williams recently hosted a workshop with Poetry Foundation and won the Lightscatter Press Prize. His poetry collection, titled “Reading Water” is forthcoming in 2025. He was recently featured in the 2024 Debut Poets Series, hosted by ONLY Poems. 

Tiffany Aurelia was published in The Kenyon Review, diode poetry journal and West Trestle Review. 

Alejandra Cabezas published a poem in West Trestle Review. 

Conan Tan has poems published or forthcoming in The Cincinnati Review, Nashville Review, Passages North and elsewhere.

Lizzie Hutton published a poem in Beloit Poetry Journal.

Sam Moe published poems in Jet Fuel Review, Bullshit Lit and Masticadores. 

Elinor Ann Walker was shortlisted and longlisted for Madville Publishing’s 2024 Arthur Smith Poetry Prize. Her poems appeared in AGNI, Nimrod International Journal, Sweet Lit and more.

Alyse Knorr recently published a full-length poetry collection, titled “Wolf Tours” (2024) with Fulcrum Publishing. Her poems have recently appeared in Colorado Review, Verse Daily, Florida Review and more.

Todd Campbell published a poem in Watershed Review. 

Mckendy Fils-Aimé published poems in Southeast Review, American Literary Review, The Broadkill Review and other journals.

Jennifer Bullis published a poem in Cider Press Review. 

Eric Steineger published poems in One Art and Matter Press.

Melanie Branton published poems in Ink, Sweat and Tears and The Lake. 

Michael Lauchlan had poems appear in NOVUS Literary Arts Journal, New World Writing Quarterly and The 2River View. 

Jared Povanda published poems in Passages North, ONLY Poems, Eunoia Review and other journals.

Maggie Rue Hess published a debut chapbook titled “The Bones That Map Us” (Bell Point Chaps, 2024). She has poems published in American Literary Review and Street Light.

Jack B Bedell recently published a poetry collection titled “Ghost Forest” (Mercer University Press, 2024) and published poems in Verse Daily, Broadkill Review, Moist Poetry Journal and other journals.

Donald Pasmore recently published poems in Permafrost Magazine, Broadkill Review, Third Wednesday and more. He is the founder and editor-in-chief of 149 Review.

Ann Weil was twice nominated for the Pushcart Prize. Recently, she published poems in Chestnut Review, The MacGuffin, Rhino and many others.

Rachel Storck exhibited art at the Summertide Solstice Art Festival.

Congratulations on all your accomplishments! We can’t wait to see what you do next.

Best,

Siobhan Jean-Charles

Best of the Net Nominations 2025!

Dear Shore Family,

We are so excited to announce our 2025 Best of the Net Nominations! This year has been our biggest year with by far the most submissions and largest readership. These selections were difficult to make because of the incredible quality of the work you have been sending us and we have had the privilege to publish. We are so proud to help get your amazing poems out to the world! We hope you will join us in celebrating our six nominees!

Sarah Carson “How to Love the Man Who’ll Rape You”
Samuel Dickerson “Elegy for Last Night”
Kashawn Taylor “A Proper Shower”
Dylan Tran “Looking at My Venmo Feed and Getting FOMO”
Dana Wall “Theory of Half-Things”
Natalie Padilla Young “In the right light”

With Deep Admiration,
Sarah, Caroline & John

Review: Lee Potts

On We’ll Miss the Stars in the Morning by Lee Potts

by Tyler Truman Julian

Lee Potts’ newest chapbook, We’ll Miss the Stars in the Morning, embodies a quiet power. The poems grapple with universal questions of life, death and change, juxtaposing the natural world and human nature. These are not quaint pastorals. These are poems of rural spaces where one is “living too far away / from town to hear the church / bells announce a new hour, / a wedding, a fire,” and, in these spaces, the relationship between nature and humanity is fraught (“Listen”). The reality of death is evident in the changing seasons, a fading garden space and the wilding of cultivated spaces; yet, they consistently present their humanness through questions such as What comes next? and How do we go on?
            At the edge of urban spaces, Potts paints a picture of an individual wrestling with loss, attempting to understand his place in the natural passing of time. This is evident in the chapbook’s opening poem, “It may not have been rain at all”:
            The rain becomes rivers, the skies always clear.
            We’ll see constellations cross the ancient stage

            for our tiny applause tonight. They always hit
           their marks. I’m a man. I’m allowed to forget
            about my own body. To even forget that it’s bound
            to dissolve like some soft gritty pill under 

            God’s own tongue.

Potts shows impressive command of each line through careful enjambment, layering meaning from line to line. The speaker establishes and relishes in natural beauty, but that beauty also reflects the speaker’s fleeting existence on this planet and his mental state. The linework and use of nature as symbol found in “It may not have been rain at all” continues throughout the chapbook. In “Every green thing’s name,” the symbolism of nature is more apparent as the poem takes on a narrative mode:

            Winter turned the kitchen
           into a tabernacle closed around
            those dark hours, keeping
            them hidden and apart.
            Death soaked in like grey rain,
            rust off the shed’s steel roof.
            You saw that one final
            spring and just a bit of summer.
            The weeds set in fast.
            A garden never stays
            a garden.

The narrative mode of the poems in We’ll Miss the Stars in the Morning allows Potts (through his speaker) to explore specific and individual moments of loss, while the natural and religious imagery of the chapbook adds powerful universal weight to the themes of death and grief he explores. The chapbook’s title poem, “We’ll Miss the Stars in the Morning,” embraces this universal call to quiet reflection. The speaker is flying home, late at night, and reflects on what he can see out his window:

            Every light down there
            is where it is because someone
            felt a stab of desire.
            How do any of us navigate
            to what’s always hidden behind
            the infinitely tender horizon?
            Our course set by constellations
            of our own want. We trace
            white lines like thread taunt
            between some of the most distant
            stars and devise creatures
            we alone can see or name.
            Always and forever on the same journey
            that first hauled us to our feet, before
            we even had all the words
            for what we were after.

This universal call to reflection—How do any of us face whatever comes next after loss?—cements the chapbook’s stakes in poignantly human concerns, concerns that anyone could face at one time or another.

            We’ll Miss the Stars in the Morning is a moving chapbook that everyone can find themselves in, even as it follows its own personal threads through grief and change. There is power in naming hurt and Potts does not shy away from this act. Instead, he gives names—and therefore meaning—to that which might feel nebulous through his sharp use of symbol and shrewd linework. The poems of We’ll Miss the Stars in the Morning are both universal and deeply personal and, in this way, exemplify what great poetry is meant to do.

In case you missed it—here are Potts’ poem from The Shore:
After Hours
A pedagogy for the rain

A Note from the Editors Regarding Submissions

Dear Amazing Readers, Contributors & Submitters,

We have had a massive swell in submissions in the past twelve months (which we love)! Because all three of us read every submission and we get thousands, it is more imperative than ever for submitters to follow our guidelines (which can be found here). This streamlines our process and helps us get contracts and proofs out to keep our regular quarterly release and promotion schedule. Due to this, we will be sending automatic rejections to those not following our guidelines (denoted as such) starting today. Please carefully read and follow our guidelines and help us keep making this journal we love in a timely manner! Thank you so much for being a part of our family!

With much admiration,

Sarah, Caroline & John

Review: V. Joshua Adams

On Past Lives by V. Joshua Adams

by Tyler Truman Julian

V. Joshua Adams’ debut full-length collection, Past Lives, is an intellectual tour de force that rejects singular poetic categorization. Adams masters the precision of imagery that anchors the reader in familiar emotions and symbolic motifs, even as his speaker enters abstract personal recollections and experiences. The result is a blurring between the sublime and the ordinary. As a whole, the collection’s blended slice-of-life narrative and philosophy echoes great Modernists like T.S. Elliot and Gertrude Stein, while its sensuality and creative word choice moves the poetry beyond Modernism into the same realm as writers like John Ashberry and Janaka Stucky. Past Lives is for true poetry lovers: those who wish to be challenged and who revel in the complex world shaped by words on a page.

            Past Lives traces a life divided into three stages—a first, a second, and a third—and follows a narrative shaped by the progression of aging, exploring its inevitability and the fears attached to it. The collection confronts the inevitability of time’s passage and the fear that can come with it. Rather than offering a simple answer to how one should age well, it instead urges readers to find joy and presence in the current moment, a clear call to revel in the now. “Were we inside of a novel, and, if so, / was I a character or merely the narrator?” the speaker asks in “Dora,” the first poem in the last section of the book. “Dora” embraces a sensuality and, even, eroticism that points toward the answer, Don’t observe; be a character in the novel of your life. This dynamic is present from the beginning of Past Lives and serves as a thread that pulls the reader through the energetic and challenging collection. In “Circles,” the collection’s opening poem, the speaker-character is lost, unable to be their own person amid the demands of daily life, and “That’s when you found me, staring at the stopped clock,” the speaker reports, then continues,

            and showed me the way out: a ritual
            where we barred the door, turned up the halogen lamps,
            and stared at each other until we decided
            which swimsuits most flattered our blanched bodies,
            high cut one pieces or string bikinis.

Adams’ collection encourages us to find our community and live each day with intention, a theme that connects the collection’s more abstract, personal moments, grounding its intellectual reflections in ordinary, human experience. This dichotomy runs as an undercurrent throughout Past Lives and appears strikingly in individual poems as well, such as in “The Middle,” which opens in the abstract before anchoring itself in the mundane:

            Of course, a lot of us have never had it so good.
            The average end is farther away from the middle
            than ever before. Years of slower diminishing stretch out ahead.
            There will be time to solve our problems,
            time to refreeze the sea ice, regrow hair, reinflate cheeks.
            There will be time to read Tolstoy and Proust,
            to take up painting and get serious about things
            like wine. And if not, well, why not just do what the man says,
            and eat and drink and live each day deep as your last?
            Nobody does that, though, especially people.

Though abstract snapshots, these poems emphasize that one is able to live life deeply simply by living life and refusing to be a narrator. This is especially embodied in “Routine”:

            Morning, midsummer. Asphalt exhales
            a white coat, skirt, and thick shoes
            dappled red.
                            Nights, she’s a nurse;
           days, she sleeps on an overstuffed couch.
           Foxhunt prints stand guard. 
           High in the attic, a boy reads the Odyssey.
           Souls drink blood from troughs
           and speak clouds of ink mist. Embracers tumble. 
           Across the river in the sick city
           people sicken and die. Down by the pool
           the sun shines, and the gardeners break for lunch.

The various people in “Routine” exercise free will and choose how to spend their time—decorating with vintage pictures, reading alone or taking lunch. “People sicken and die” and death is inevitable, but until it arrives everyone has the agency to decide how they live, even in small, often overlooked ways.

            V. Joshua Adams’ Past Lives is a quiet call to action to live this life. While this message echoes across the collection, each poem stands on its own—distinct and thought-provoking—inviting readers to delight in the act of reading poetry and the human connection that comes with it. There is beauty to be found in the intellectual challenge of Past Lives, and those who read it will not be disappointed. With this collection, Adams confirms for us that engaging with poetry is one way to live each day and revel in the now.

In case you missed it—here is Adams’ poem from The Shore:
Problem of Fiction

In the Current Issue 18

Dear Readers, 

Issue 18 of The Shore takes on the world in all its wild weirdness. From raccoon skulls and click beetles to flies cussing and crabs pulling taffy, these poems are fearless. Even when they are about fear itself, they run straight at it. They question the current order of things, the meanings of relationships, the common and uncommon terrors we confront daily and bravely say: we are here; we are wounded; we are strong enough to speak.

Here is what the issue 18 contributors have been up to since Summer 2023:

Haley Winans has recently published poems in Rattle, Midway Journal, Watershed Review and Sundog.

Sara Femenella has recently published poems in Palette Poetry, Viewless Wings and Anti-Heroin Chic.

Dorsey Craft has recently published poems in Only Poems, Sixth Finch and Palette Poetry.

Lisa Lewis has recently published poems in North American Review, New Letters and Action, Spectacle.

William Littlejohn-Oram recently published two poems in Crab Creek Review.

Laura Apol’s newest poetry collection, Cauterized, was published with Michigan State University Press in 2024. 

Matthew Gustafson recently published a poem in Eunoia Review.

Tracey Knapp has recently published poems in One Art and West Trestle Review.

Sandra Fees’ poetry collection, Wonderwork, was recently published with BlazeVOX Books. She also recently published poems in Iron Horse Literary Review and Cutleaf Journal and was the winner of Off Topic Publishing’s poetry contest. 

Roman Bobek recently published poems in Beaver Magazine and HAD. 

Jordan Walker won Prairie Schooner’s 2023 Summer Essay Contest and published nonfiction in Hayden’s Ferry Review.

Emily A Benton recently published poems in Bird Coat Quarterly.

Jeff Newberry recently published poems in Another New Calligraphy.

Christopher McCormick has recently published poems in Beaver Magazine and West Trade Review.

Katie Mora has recently published fiction in The Summerset Review, Orca and Blue Earth Review.

Ashish Kumar Singh has recently published poems in Frontier Poetry and Diode Poetry.

Allison Thung published two books, Reacquaint and Molar with Kith Books in 2024. She has a hybrid pamphlet forthcoming from Hem Press in 2025.

Fathia Quadri Eniola recently published poems in Strange Horizons, Ink Sweat & Tears and Torch Literary Arts. 

Saba Husain’s book, Elegy for My Tongue, came out with Terrapin Books!

Matthew McDonald had poems appear in Red Ogre Review and Ballast Magazine.

Austin Segrest’s new book, Groom, was recently released by Unbound Edition Press. His poems have appeared widely in fine journals such as Virginia Quarterly Review and Cumberland River Review.

Matthew Murrey has had his work appear in many journals such as One, Rust and Moth and Rattle.

Amy DeBellis has had new writing appear in Hobart, The Shore and Blue Earth Review, among others.

Helena Mesa recently had poems published in Verse Daily, One Art and SWIMM Everyday.

Inkyoo Lee’s poems have recently come out in Wildness, Ghost City Review and The Inflectionist Review.

Phoebe Buckley is now pursuing and MA in Creative and Life Writing at Goldsmiths University of London.

Alexander Duringer has had poems appear in Four Way Review, Ghost City Review and Seventh Wave, among others.

Dan Schall had work appear in Anthropocene, Thimble Literary Magazine and Elysium Review.

Jamie Tews had writing published by Understory and Off Assignment.

Peggy Hammond’s poetry appeared in Roanoke Review and OLit.

Andrew Vogel had poems come out in journals such as Valparaiso Poetry Review and Cider Press Review.

Laurel Benjamin had poems appear in Spillwords, Taos Journal and Stone Poetry Quarterly.

Annette Sisson’s new book, Winter with Sharp Apples, came out with Terrapin Books. Her poems also appeared in journals such as Cumberland River Review and Lascaux Review.

Phil Goldstein has published widely in journals such as Sierra Nevada Review, Atlanta Review and South Dakota Review.

Lisa Low had poems appear in One Art and Does It Have Pockets.

Barbara Daniels’ poems appeared in Canary, Good River Review and As It Ought to Be.

Adam D Weeks had work appear in Cumberland River Review, Poet Lore and 45th Parallel.

David Eileen Winn has had poems published in Painted Bride Quarterly, Beaver Magazine and Permafrost, among many others.

Sarah B Cahalan had poems come out in Feral, Psaltery & Lyre and Ekstasis.

Andrew Spitzer earned his Master's in Architecture at the University of Illinois, Chicago.

Congratulations on all your wonderful achievements! We look forward to more from you in the future!

Best, 
The Editors

Review: Nadine Hitchiner

On Practising Ascending by Nadine Hitchiner

by Tyler Truman Julian

Nadine Hitchiner’s Practising Ascending elevates the mundane moments of interpersonal relationships to profound heights by repeatedly urging the reader to “imagine this moment not as it was, but as it could have been” (“On Poetry: Would We Call it Danger, or Odyssey?”). Each poem in this debut collection creates its own reality, clarifying a memory or a relationship and presenting them either as they truly were or as idealized fantasies. The reader is challenged with navigating which is which and, far from becoming tiresome, this challenge invigorates. The collection accompanies its reader through the emotional core of a marriage beyond its honeymoon phase, as it grapples with grief, desire, and the intricate delicacies of extended families.

            The poems of Practising Ascending are structurally complex and defy easy categorization. One poem might use couplets and the next prose to explore similar themes.Early in the collection Hitchiner’s speaker sets a pensive tone, undercut by humor, to explore the impact of her words on the page:
           
            last year, the year I most echoed its endurance, I shovelled twelve steps into the house—there was a             blizzard; each flake, definite as time; had lung and blood. I drove through the streets anxious, bitter.             Hoping morphed into steering. I’ve been writing all these poems; glum, but trying to be good,                         making snow angels in the paper—isn’t that ‘technique’? “Be good in the poem, be good.” Isn’t this             some kind of dying, too?—The body, only a wound with potential? Is it really true? Does a victim             make a victim? What if every season rises and falls and what remains is the year?

(“On Poetry: Would We Call it Danger, or Odyssey?”)

The imagery in this poem works on several levels, but most importantly, the speaker’s aspirations toward goodness work dually, signaling both virtue and poetic skill or technique. Later in this same poem, this dual nature of goodness returns:

            Me, being what shape the air whittles of me, I fill myself with the chips of my spirit—
follower
            I’ve always been—the same-
            do’er. I’d set the table neatly with its contents
            I’d like to live
            to the letter.

            This implicit fear of failure or inadequacy within the family is further built as the collection progresses, as is the idea that things are not always what they seem. Hitchiner’s speaker is malleable, can be whittled, but at what cost and by whom? In a particularly poignant poem about adjusting to marriage and a long-term relationship, the speaker confides:

            I’ve run from this kind of longing
            like throttle from gas—
            this small love

            vow, this disgusting little glory.
            But the dust has settled
 
            on my curls, their wordless-long
           journey through his hands—

            we’ve touched all there is to touch.                                                   (“Ode to the Spit Sip”)

The structure of both marriage and the poem captures the desire explored in “Ode to the Spit Sip,” but while this desire is contained, it remains complicated and present. The speaker is fearful of ennui and complacency: “19 I long for love while I love. / 20 Here we are: / 21 grown heavy with redundancy” (“Piano Quai”). In this way, the speaker repeatedly reminds the reader that even in committed relationships, the past impacts the present. In “To Touch a Rose like an Abacus,” the speaker explores her husband’s relationship to women and how that changes their interactions:

            His mother, in the living room, but never there,
            when I am—I’m only imagining things: 

            her laughter, her scoliosis.

            If no one saw us,
           were my hands ever true? 

            Were his eyes ever jewels, did he ever wear them?

            Or, that beaded blouse—did he ever dance
            on his mother’s tears, the way dust 

            dances on water, and cannot undo?
            …
            he paints a woman
            as steam, he paints 

            her as a rose—doesn’t count, does it. 

            I mean, sometimes, that’s only a mirror.
          When he stops, he says, quit 

            your cryin’ boy, that’s not a man’s shirt—lose the silk.

            Lays his head
            on the door of the bathroom stalls, whistles,           

            when I long for him, it is always fiction.

            It is both the presence and absence of interaction that shapes the relationships in the collection; the confusion within the poem about who has said what to whom and when remains an important part of a larger equation of loss and memory. The images painted in the poem are “only a mirror” of the husband’s relationships with his parents. Whether they are true or not, they ultimately shape both his own identity and their relationship, influencing who he has become in their marriage. By writing and sharing these, she is able to clarify, attempt to understand, and—with the reader—bear witness.

            In Practising Ascending, Hitchiner has crafted a powerful and complex debut that lays bare the relationships of home. Across the poems, the reader joins Hitchiner’s speaker in her pursuit of truth, becoming participant and witness to the minutia of daily life that shape the individual, seeing themselves in the grief, desire, challenge, and beauty of relationship. Reading Practising Ascending is an act of accompaniment and self-discovery, one wherein the reader will be forced to embrace “everyone we have been, everyone // we gave to a future. Everyone we are / because of how our mothers have loved us” (“Sixteen Songs for the Catbird”).

In case you missed it—here is Hitchiner’s poem from The Shore:
When this February shall find me

Review: Alec Hershman

On For a Second, In the Dark by Alec Hershman

by Tyler Truman Julian

For a Second, In the Dark, Alec Hershman’s prize-winning chapbook, looks at life with a keen eye, rooting out truth by emphasizing often overlooked details in the mundane. The word play and humor that previously drew me to Hershman’s poetry is on full display in For a Second, In the Dark, especially when the detail he chooses to focus on in an individual poem is held up to a warped or funhouse mirror. Hershman’s speaker adds a sometimes cynical or satirical voice to poems that are frequently tender and consistently human. In “Popular History,” Hershman’s speaker reflects on an alternate reality in which “Marilyn Monroe / is the president’s wife” and “birds there look much like ours.” This rewritten history is a type of wish fulfillment that ultimately explores the speaker’s own sense of what could have been:

            A bus comes as it comes to you, 

            scooping up standers-by,
            that getting away as you know it,
            has not changed, not really. And now 

            you’ll never know those gray-backed strangers
            boarding the two big steps
            in a gray light in which a smile 

            like the beveled end of a dentist’s tool
            catches, in the foreground,
            the President’s face. Behind him 

            lies something certain and unknown.
            Who, exactly, is he looking at,
            the smile widening, but not 

            too wide, because one of us really was
            standing in the wings, and because
            the rest of the story was almost right.

The farce of Kennedy leaving Jackie for Marilyn further contextualizes the speaker’s own experience. There is loss playing out in the background of the word play and humor. There’s a critical lens held up to society and personal relationships.

            “Popular History” is just one of many examples throughout For a Second, In the Dark in which the speaker moves in and out of dreamscapes to comment on genuine relationships. “In my waking life, / I’m a spy for the previous one,” he explains in “Eating Bread Is Wooden Ships Crashing on the Shore.” Hershman engages in a sort of metacommentary here, exploring how a poet can truthfully relay the deeper meaning behind familiar images. In what reads as an ars poetic moment, the speaker describes an urban center and declares,

            Because this is not my town,
            or not my town
            any longer, I divulge
            private information to the eyes,
            a little knowledge to my mouth:
            I whistle, see
            there is a crystal basket
            domed perfectly
            over the fire hydrant, a pipe
            inferable, liquid clapper
            in the center of a bell.

            …

            I know things the locals don’t
            and take them with me:
            there are stellar grapes
            marooned in the gutters,
            and cats no pedestrian will ever
            brush upon by ankles. As I pass,
            the smoke comes easily
            out of the restaurants. 

            A memento can be this book of matches.

            My hands, when I’m not watching,
          are too big for my pockets.

(“Deja Vu”)

            Hershman’s attention to detail and humor point to deeper truths than the surface-level scenes may initially suggest, creating complex depth across a very short chapbook. His speaker zooms in and out, choosing which details to focus on, giving them center stage—and emotional weight. In its closing poem, For a Second, In the Dark, returns to a dream in which the speaker can fly. In “As Far as Hawks Go,” the speaker offers insight into this zoomed out-zoomed in, cinematic approach to human experience, explaining,

            And though I lost some detail
            to elevated vision, my new life was still 

            extravagant and terse, like a billboard facing the sea.

            Hershman’s attention to the mundane is far from simple. For a Second, In the Dark is a humorous exploration of life that stings with the bite of satire. It’s a sharp look at the absurdity of our daily existence. By paying attention, spying, like Hershman’s speaker, we may also arrive at an “elevated vision” of this life.

In case you missed it—here is Hershman’s poem from The Shore:
Ars Poetica

In the Current with Siobhan Jean-Charles Issue 17

Dear Reader,

Issue 17 is filled with striking and evocative poems. A choke-pear sits in a mouth, a cemetery is flooded with crickets and a glacier gnashes against a skyline. These poems juxtapose pastoral imagery with surreal language, reflecting shared anxieties about isolation and the changing climate.

Jennie E Owen published a poem in Poetry Breakfast and the anthology: Mischief of One Kind and Another from Nine Pens Press.

Pamilerin Jacob recently published poems in Poetry Magazine, Frontier Poetry, Chestnut Review, the African Urban Voices Anthology and other literary magazines and journals.

Milica Mijatović was recently nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and published poems in Tupelo Quarterly Review, Third Wednesday Magazine, Plume Poetry and others.

Frank Graziano had poems published in LIT.

Nike Onwu published a poem in The Shallow Tales Review.

Samantha DeFlitch published poems in New England Review, Four Way Review, EcoTheo Review and others.

Divyasri Krishnan was nominated for the 2024 Best New Poets Anthology. Additionally, she published a poem in DIAGRAM, Yale Review and Frontier Poetry, among others.

Michael Quattrone recently had work appear in Bennington Review, Salamander, Cider Press Review, New York Quarterly and Harpur Palate.

Kelly R Samuels was a finalist for the Maine Review’s 2024 Environs Prize. She published poems in Maine Review, The Dodge and Sequestrum and others.

Farai Chaka published poems in Isele Magazine, Dawn Review, Ghost City Press and Subnivean.

Melissa Strilecki recently published poems in The Shore Poetry, The Hyacinth Review and Thimble Lit Magazine.

KG Newman has had work appear in journals including Mojo and Timber Journal. His new book, Time Billionaire is available from Bainbridge Island Press.

Susannah Lawrence is now the managing editor of Used Furniture Review.

Melanie McCabe published work in The Washington Post, Valparaiso Review and Bracken Magazine.

Ellen Zhang published a poem in Cider Press Review, Chestnut Review, Lammergeier and Slant: A Journal of Poetry.

Crystal Cox published poems in phoebe, Tiny Spoon and Like a Field.

Ruoyu Wang was recognized by the 2023 Adroit Prizes for Poetry and Prose. They published poems in Rattle, Eunoia Review and Counterclock.

Ben Groner III published poems in Whale Road Review, Dust Poetry and Peatsmoke Journal. His new book Dust Storms May Exist was released from Madville Press.

Ryleigh Wann was nominated for the Best of the Net and published poems in The Rejoinder and porkbelly press’ Final Girl anthology.

Savannah Cooper published a poem in One Art, Hedge Apple Magazine and Paraselene Literary Magazine.

Prosper C Ìféányí was a finalist for the 2024 Greg Grummer Poetry Prize and a finalist for the 2023 Gerald Kraak Anthology Prize. His published work in The Offing, ANMLY, phoebe literary journal and others.

Jill Khoury had a poem featured in the Academy of American Poets’ Poem-A-Day, Verse Daily, The Inflectionist Review and others.

Lily Greenberg was a 2025 Pushcart Prize winner for her poem, “The Beginning According to Mrs. God,” published in New England Review. She also won the Iron Horse Literary Review 2023 National Poetry Month Contest. Her work was recently published in Sun Dog Lit and EcoTheo Review. Grats!

Luke Johnson published a poetry collection in 2023 titled “Quiver” (Texas A&M University Press) which was a finalist for the California Book Awards. He was interviewed by The Adroit Journal and was featured in Poetry Daily, and Shō Poetry Journal.

Jane Newkirk published a poem in Empty House Press.

Jessica Goodfellow was a finalist for the 2024 Sundress Publications Chapbook Contest. She published poems in Anti-Heroin Chic, South Florida Poetry Journal, Plume, Body and more.

Nicholas Ritter received the Thesis Fellowship from George Mason University and published a poem in Washington Writers’ Publishing House.

Jen Karetnick published poems in Sweet Lit and Jet Fuel Review.

Christopher Blackman had work appear in North American Review, Sixth Finch, Baltimore Review and others.

Laura Grece Weldon has recently had poems appear in The Milk House.

Lindsay Clark published poems in Ghost City Press and Neologism Poetry Journal.

Alex Gurtis has poems published or forthcoming in Bear Review, West Trade Review, Door is a Jar and others.

Jill Kitchen published poems in Split Lip Magazine, trampset, The Dodge Magazine and others.

Taylor J Johnson published a blog post with the University of Arizona Poetry Center.

Letitia Jiju published a poem in West Trestle Review.

Meg Kelleher published a poem in Willow Springs Magazine.

William G Gillespie published a poem in BOMB Magazine.

Kai Pretto was featured in Holyoke Media.

Karen Elizabeth Sharpe published poems in The MacGuffin, Permafrost Magazine and the museum of americana.

John Barr published a poetry collection in 2023 titled The Boxer of Quirinal (Red Hen Press). He was longlisted for the 2024 PEN/Voelcker Award.

Arvinder Kaur Johri published a poem in The Inflectionist Review.

Alston Tyer graduated from the MFA program at the University of North Carolina Wilmington and published a poem in Frozen Sea.

Vincent Frontero published poetry and translations in Georgia Review, The Meadow, and Good River Review.

Ruby Miller & Kimberly Turner presented a collaborative installation titled “Wave/Length” at Besse Gallery in Escanaba, Michigan.

Congratulations on your achievements! We cannot wait to see what you do next.

Best,

Siobhan Jean-Charles

Review: Annette Sisson

On Winter Sharp with Apples by Annette Sisson

by Tyler Truman Julian

Annette Sisson’s newest collection, Winter Sharp with Apples, is a vibrant glimpse at the challenges of daily life undercut with hope and “the tang of desire, of apple” (“Woolsthorpe Manor”). Sisson’s poetry is approachable and allows the reader to find relatable moments across the poems of the collection. Infrequent departures from narrative, structured forms and embrace of the lyric mode add depth to the universal themes explored in the poems, but the reader is prepared for these structurally and thematically challenging moments by Sisson’s otherwise steady craftsmanship. Sisson’s poetry is deeply human, and it’s through this humanness that the reader benefits from reading.

            The collection opens with vivid images of childhood. While these details are often depicted as difficult, there is also an underlying sense of progress and growth. In “Muscle Memory,” the speaker captures this dynamic of forward motion:

            We lug our stunted childhoods
                        like rusted spikes. Chains
            and mauls. We recoil from flat cars,
                        covered hoppers, runaways—
            fold into time, into pattern,
                        rhythm, the howl of engines,
            clang of push and pull.
                        There is no forswearing
            of air blast and signal,
                        of memory, the wailing movement
            of diesel, piston, freight.

The speaker knows memory can’t be left behind; it’s carried along on the train that moves someone forward into the ever-changing future. This hope, though understated in “Muscle Memory,” recurs throughout the collection, often more overtly. In “Our Hands,” the speaker recounts the birth of a grandchild alongside the death of her mother:

            Three months after you die, recede
            into silver mist, a grandchild will be born. 

            With fingertips that once grazed your cheek,
            I will touch this baby—and he will be yours.

Death and life are juxtaposed several times in the collection, nowhere more clearly than in “Death is not,” which explores the necessity of death for the continuation of life, the continued growth of nature. The speaker asks,
                                                Where do they go?
            bodies              residue
                        merge  with soil
                                                molecules
                                                                        break
                        into earthworm
                                                grass
                                                            tree
What of their glistening threads?
    The have of their leaving?
no wisp of fur in its curved beak—
    death is not    a barred owl
            on the forest floor
                        still
            beside     a shagbark

Nature serves as a metaphor for hope—perhaps a small hope, but a steadfast one—that life will persist despite adversity. This theme runs throughout the collection, revealing a universal truth about life and death.

       Winter Sharp with Apples offers a poignant slice of life, immersing readers in its raw and moving reflections on existence. Sisson weaves relatable images of life, death, and hope into familiar structures and natural imagery, making the collection both accessible and deeply resonate. Even as the book delves into difficult subject matter, the reader feels as though they have come to know a friend.

In case you missed it—here is Sisson’s poem from The Shore:

Portrait of My Father’s Glaucoma

Review: Jill Khoury

On earthwork by Jill Khoury

By Tyler Truman Julian

Jill Khoury’s earthwork immerses readers in a dreamscape of grief and abuse. Departing from more traditional poetics, Khoury instead relies on a kind of associative stream of consciousness to present her speaker’s grief. The collection unfolds in three sections wherein Khoury employs John Mcphee’s “backward e” narrative structure to recount the speaker’s experience of losing an abusive mother.  The poems first delve into the anguish of her mother’s death, then step back to reveal the dysfunction of the speaker’s upbringing, including navigating life with a disability and finally examine the aftermath of the loss. Through this narrative structure, the complicated poems of earthwork create a cohesive whole. The abstract poetics balanced with this strong narrative structure results in an engaging and moving collection.

            The title, earthwork, stems from the speaker’s mother’s penchant for creating and firing earthen pottery, but there are layers to this word choice. Khoury turns to nature imagery to help her speaker make sense of her mother’s impending death, whereas her mother’s hard realism, passive aggression, and even cruelty ground the speaker’s imaginative flights. Both the speaker’s imaginative leaps and the mother’s incessant pulling back to earth are attempts at making sense of a complicated familial situation. This dynamic begins in the collection’s opening poem, “night cultivars”:
 
           i tell
            my mother
            the fractured
            clay dirt
            flowered
            against a red
            moon
                        bore a
            scratchblossom
            all thorns
                        and dolor
            moaned from out
            a low stump
            when I put my ear
            to it
                        oh
            she says
            that’s just
            a weed
            the wind

This poetic exchange, blending pain and whimsy, sets the tone for the collection. Even when the form appears more familiar, as in “curtain colic bassinet calf,” which appears in the collection’s second section, the dynamic continues, illuminating the complicated family history:
 
           the infant’s howl strafes
            the mother’s earthwork 

            the mother’s mare has flown
            into the eaves and nested 

            the infant is captured in a rogue wave
            out back / the cornfield crackles

            the mother swaddles her own head
            in curtains / one eye on the twilight

The collection viscerally captures the dysfunction and power struggle at the core of the mother-daughter relationship presented, as both women grapple with their need for autonomy. Khoury’s masterful control of this disjointedness enhances the collection with remarkable foresight. In “sicker,” Khoury reveals the fact of the mother’s diabetes and the speaker’s congenital nystagmus, portraying a fraught dynamic of competition and blame:

but diabetes is making her
            sick & sicker eye hemorrhages special diets home IVs
            the surgeons removing bone from her foot & i am
            guileless kyle at school has diabetes and he doesn’t have
            as many problems as you
                                                                        go eat your cereal she says
                                                                        at least i can still ride—
            and your eyes
            those are my fault
            i’m sorry

Even though “she     has     never   asked   how much    i can see,” the mother both takes blame for the daughter’s disability and sees it as a hindrance to the life she wants to live (“my mother / the storm”). So ensues the complicated power struggle of mother and daughter that lends itself well to the forms and structures already developed in the collection. “cover it up” showcases this struggle and embraces an experimental form:
 
           my mother says i push you so you won’t be dependent on a man / do you see what
            it got me / i couldn’t go to college / you will go to college / you father is selfish
            and lazy (like you)  

                         [a cup  a rip  a cur] 

            no wonder he uses his custody to let you buy your own clothes / he has no idea
            what a young lady should wear / that batik dress like something from the garbage
            / a hippie would wear that / you’re my daughter and you’ll dress like my daughter

                         [vireo  trice]

In the third section of earthwork, the content of the poems shows a shift in the speaker. The poem “in the end my mother’s clothes” explores the idea of laying out her mother’s clothing in a field because

            she only wore clothes to obey brutal codes
            that her shadow-psyche devised ////
                                    mother, reveal
                                    your whole
                                    self
                                    at last!

Here, the speaker craves closure and seeks to leave behind the awe-struck child-view of her mother and also the hurt her mother caused that she sees now in adulthood. Likewise, in “the assignment for healing, ” she wants a full picture of her mother and “to tell the whole truth / to these other / survivors of suicide who bare their horrorscenes and wet eyes.” However, despite these powerful moments, the collection refuses to give the reader clear closure and chooses instead to ask, “mother / which world do i belong to,” which leaves the reader to understand the longevity of grief, especially grief which has been complicated by abuse. Nevertheless, the exploration of the “whole truth” across the poetry in earthwork implies healing is in progress for the speaker and the reader leaves shaken but hopeful.

            Khoury’s meticulous and impressive control of language and structure in earthwork invites readers to confront their own responses to loss, ultimately leaving them to choose between acceptance, rebellion, indifference, or hope. The collection is forceful yet meditative and offers profound insight into grief’s complicated nature. earthwork grounds its reader in the complexities of the human condition and Khoury fosters a powerful experience that is as rewarding as it is painful to read. Readers leave earthwork shaken, but with a glimmer of hope for healing.

In case you missed it—here is Khoury’s poem from The Shore:

an edge | is like a separation without an ending

In the Current with Siobhan Jean-Charles Issue 16

Dear Reader,

Issue 16 begins with a stunning anti-pastoral by Ellery Beck. One poem titled “They’re Selling Our Blood at the Dollar Tree,” reckons with the dehumanization of Arabs, describing children caught in the crossfires of war. Another poem titled “Holodomor” is a haunting poem that describes famine and the Ukrainians forced to eat even the bark on trees. The poems in this issue defy conventions and we can learn much about the role of artists in times of displacement, genocide, war and endless human suffering.

Here is what the issue 16 contributors have been up to since:

Ellery Beck published poems in Minnesota Review, Passages North and Cider Press Review and published photography elsewhere.

Nasser Alsinan published poems in ANMLY, Colorado Review and The Dawn Review.

Ryan Varadi won the 2023 Frontier Poetry Ekphrastic Prize and published poems in Poetry Northwest, River Heron Review and Cherry Tree.

Michael Goodfellow published a poetry collection titled “Folklore of Lunenburg County” (2024) with Gaspereau Press and published poems in the League of Canadian Poets and Ballast Journal.

John Glowney published poems in Narrative Magazine and Press 53.

Heather Qin attended the Asian American Writers’ Workshop and published poems in Hayden’s Ferry Review, diode, Jet Fuel Review and West Trestle Review.

Helen Nancy Meneilly published poems in Eunoia Review, Bulb Culture Collective and Book of Matches.

Mary Simmons published poems in The Baltimore Review, trampset lit and Beaver Magazine.

Justin Carter published a poetry collection titled “Brazos” (2024) with Belle Point Press. He recently published poems in DIAGRAM, One Art, Major 7th Magazine and more.

Michael Agunbiade was shortlisted for the 2024 Wanjohi Prize for African Poetry. He recently published poetry in Bodega Magazine and Brittle Paper.

Maggie Boyd Hare published poems and prose in Hayden’s Ferry Review, The Pinch, Oxford American and more.

Maya C Thompson graduated from Salisbury University. Her work is published in Dialogist, Brooklyn Poets, The Tusculum Review and elsewhere.

Ronda Piszk Broatch published poetry in The Missouri Review and One Art.

Chris McCann published poems in trampset and Red Ogre Review.

Margaret M Kelly graduated with her MFA from Warren Wilson College. She published a poem in Consequence.

Daniel Dias Callahan recently published poems in Stone Poetry Quarterly, Pine Hill Review, Sierra Nevada Review and others.

Katie Tian was nominated by Surging Tides for the Best Small Fictions anthology.

Martha Silano published poems in Poetry Foundation, The Missouri Review, Thrush Poetry Journal and many other journals. Her work was featured in The New York Times’ Wordle, and her sixth poetry collection, “This One We Call Ours,” (Lynx Press, 2024) won the 2023 Blue Lynx Prize.

Marina Brown published poems in Southeast Review, Reed Magazine, Zone 3 and was a 2024 prize finalist for the Mississippi Review.

Mike Wilson published poems in Monterey Poetry Review.

Anthony Gabriel published a poem in Red Rock Review.

Christopher Citro & Dustin Nightingale published poems in Cutbank Literary Journal together.

Shannon Hardwick published poems in Poetry Northwest, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, Ghost City Review and others.

Kevin Roy published poems in Summerset Review and Sheila-Na-Gig.

Jay Brecker published work in Dialogist, Sonora Review and Pangyrus. His manuscript “blue collar eclogue” was a national finalist for the 2022 Hillary Gravendyk prize.

Lauren Badillo Milici published poems in Honey Literary, Voicemail Poems, Rejection Letters and more.

Grant Schutzman published translation work in The Offing, Four Way Review, Eunoia Review and others.

Monica Cure published poems in Four Way Review, Salamander and Poetry Northwest, among others. She was also a semi-finalist for Boston Review’s 2021 annual poetry contest.

Brandon Hansen published a poem in Poetry Super Highway.

Erin Wilson published poems in Sand Journal and Body Literature. She won a Pushcart Prize, and published a poetry collection titled “At Home with Disquiet” (2024) with Circling Rivers.

Lucas Dean Clark published poems in Eunoia Review and Hidden Peak Press.

M Cynthia Cheung published poems in Hayden’s Ferry Review, swamp pink, diode and others.

Leland Seese published poems in Frontier Poetry, Lunch Ticket and Rhino Poetry.

Joey Wańczyk published poems in Ghost City Press, Frozen Sea, & Change and more.

Kimberly Ann Priest published poems in Verse Daily, Beloit Poetry Journal, Poetry Daily and others. Additionally, her work was nominated twice for a Pushcart Prize and won the 2024 Backwaters Prize in Poetry from the University of Nebraska Press for her book titled “Wolves in Shells” (2025).

Joe Dahut published poems in New Limestone Review and The Flyfish Journal. He won the 2022 Saw Palm poetry contest.

Vanessa Couto Johnson published poems in Concision Poetry Journal and Broken Lens Journal. She published a poetry collection titled “pH of Au” (2023) with Parlor Press.

taylor d waring released an album titled “Outlaws of the Sun” with his psychedelic doom metal band, Merlock.

Congratulations on your achievements! We cannot wait to see what you do next.

Best,

Siobhan Jean-Charles

Pushcart Nominations 2024!

Dear Lovely Readers,

We are honored and excited to announce this year’s Pushcart Prize nominees! These poems just blow us away. Thank you to all of our contributors, submitters and readers for helping The Shore publish such exciting poetry and making these decisions so difficult!

Emma Bolden “Nights in White Satin”
Isabella Piedad Escamilla “You Don’t Have to Believe Any of This”
John Gallaher “I’m Not Afraid of Pop Music”
Dylan Harbison “July”
Melissa Holm Shoemake “Meditation over a Lagunitas Beer with iPhone”
Kate Welsh “In June, Pigeons”

With Deepest Admiration,
Sarah, Caroline & John

Review: Emma Aylor

On Close Red Water by Emma Aylor

by Tyler Truman Julian

Those looking for the perfect autumn read need look no further than Close Red Water by Emma Aylor. The prize-winning collection deftly blends folk and ancestral wisdom with feminist spirituality, resulting in poems that engage with landscape, family legacy, and femininity in profound ways. As Close Red Water approaches its second birthday, the collection, with its benevolent ghosts and subtle witchcraft, deserves another look during Spooky Season. Close Red Water attempts to make sense of the haunting that is familial legacy and parse out what it means to become an individual surrounded by family ghosts. Some say that naming a ghost can take away its ability to haunt and Aylor’s collection successfully names ghosts in order to take away their power.
           “The place I know holds an ancient pang,” begins Close Red Water (“Hay Moon”). The lyrical pulse of the collection’s opening poem establishes a strong voice and image-driven poetry that reinforces the familial and landscape-based ties of this “ancient pang.” “Hay Moon” finishes on these two ideas to lead into the rest of the collection:

            It feels like leaving again the land I left already. Remember back
            at the farm, after picking up hay? My father asked me recently.
            How the air was so soft you could wrap it around you.
            What’s past arches at the roof of my mouth like salt. In an ocean
            I remember, the brown water, cold, unrolls cleanly, paper over me.

What does it mean for the past to be eaten up, but to also sit uneasily on one’s tongue like salt? To be held in “brown water,” but “cleanly”? There are paradoxes in Close Red Water that shed light on the muddiness of the past’s impact on the present. The past both hurts and holds in comfort, like being haunted by a familiar face. This reality is explored in “False Spring,” a poem that plays with space on the page, taking the shape of a river or a timeline, fluid but structured. Aylor writes:

            One day I’ll wake with ice on my tongue
                        and cold spread to the ceiling and it will settle
                        in narrow planks, each length lit to
            innermind blue. Blue of my grandmother’s eyes,
                        chicory through vapor, one not passed full
                        to my father, whose blue is rinsed by white.
            I have only ever been haunted
                        by people I didn’t know alive: flashes
                        at a room’s edges and twist of crashed
            ribbon in early morning. I take on ghosts
                        not yet ghost, old panes overlaid, future
                        visitants. My grandmother passed on the first
            day of spring—a hundred and half.
                        I left my office to stand by the river;
                        water ran brown and rained-into
            under the bridge. Her body lay south a good
                        few hundred miles. Trees stood slipped
                        leafless; crocuses started to push up.
            My grandmother would never haunt a person.
                        She would not want to be a bother.
                        I almost see her in the mirror
            passed down to my parents’ room, corroded
                        by rot, unsilvering for two centuries:
                        to look is to see her cheekbone and chin
            picked from mine and a face specked in glass
                        decay. The plane was made and brimmed
                        in walnut, a still pool painted dark behind—
            We intend a mirror to preserve the original light.

The collection explores what is passed down from generation to generation, with emphasis on the matriarchal line. “My brother can’t witch; he doesn’t have the eyes,” Aylor’s speaker reports in “Self-Portrait as Water Witcher. He doesn’t have “the eyes,” neither does the father referenced above in “False Spring,” the same father who asks if the speaker remembers how the hay could wrap a body up in “Hay Moon.”
The buildup of these images, such as blue eyes that carry mystical significance and are presented through a feminist lens, gives the speaker in Aylor’s work power and the ability to self-actualize outside the family unit. This power is made clear in the lyrical, imagist poem “Conservatory”:
 
           Holy bones of the greenhouse slim and steeple;
            holy few panes brushed by blue. Holy strung river
            run under monstera and pitcher plants that open 

            their grace mouths. Holy mother who asks
           her daughter, so this beautiful thing is carnivorous?
            Holy my mother’s naming, her love for botany:

            even here her hands spindle in the ferns—
           wrinkled palms that braid drifts of my heart lines
            through. Holy air eighty degrees and humid

            in the fern house. Holy my déjà vu as water sings indoors
            and rock seems a place to lay myself down.
            Holy my tongue, slowing, enclosed. 

            Holy for I have been and believed, my three names
            urns for family dead; holy the ants that wobble
            over my sclerae, ghostlets that stop now and then to eat; 

            holy to be planted green in smooth water and shiver
            a body’s way to its given bed. I have been
            here before. Have not been here before.

Aylor’s speaker emphasizes her power: “Holy my tongue.” To speak and write are acts of power. Claiming that power and naming it holy reflects the feminist spiritualism of this collection, especially as it connects to nature and mysticism. When one develops as an individual outside the family, they are better positioned to re-enter the family in a healthy way and overcome past trauma. By exploring this dynamic through an image-driven feminist lens, Aylor brings her speaker full circle, asking,

            How do I ask my family
            to haunt me here?           

            None of the altars
            I make living alone will reach

            the three thousand miles
           to their graves. In fairness,

            it is a long way to walk,
            and do I really believe?

            …

            How can I rightly feel deserted
            as the one who left a place behind? (“Haunts”)

There’s excitement and joy in the agency experienced by the speaker as she claims her identity, but there’s also a sense of loss. “I wish you’d lay, I wish you’d lay me down / fluffed or washed, spindled or carded,” she laments in “Our Lady of the Blue Ridge.” “This is not coming easy— / there are parts of you leaving—I’m misplacing accents / with the loss of home-tongue.” It’s hard work to assert one’s place in a family, to name ghosts, to say good-bye. Close Red Water acknowledges this reality.
            In “Body Language,” Aylor’s speaker confides, “I only see what I can see, but I’ve made my work / to lead you down to that water with me.” A lot of work has been done to understand the water and the people in her family who lived, worked, and died along its riverbanks. A feminist examination of landscape and family, presented through lyrical, image-driven poetry makes Close Red Water an exciting and thought-provoking read. Its engagement with the supernatural adds nuance and depth to these themes, especially as the nights grow longer. Reading Close Red Water won’t leave you looking over your shoulder for things that go bump in the night; rather, you’ll be inspired to look back to your past at what ghosts need named and released in your own life.

In case you missed it—here are Aylor’s poems from The Shore:

Distance
Stonefruit Season
Daydream

Review: Abbie Kiefer

On Certain Shelters by Abbie Kiefer

by Tyler Truman Julian

Abbie Kiefer’s forthcoming collection Certain Shelter is a moving exploration of abundance. In the world of Certain Shelter, a near facsimile of small-town Maine, abundance manifests as harvest and nostalgia, cancer and grief. Many threads weave this concept of abundance with overabundance, and Kiefer dives into it fully by assigning her speaker the difficult task of poet-recorder as she reports on the state of life in a rural, blue-collar town in flux. The town’s shift from plenty to decay mirrors the speaker’s mother who succumbs to an overabundance of cancerous cells. In well-crafted poems, ranging in form and mode from prose poems to couplets to abstract, Kiefer blends craft, story, and history to build a beautiful and moving collection.
            In “A Brief History of Tarceva,” Kiefer’s speaker explores the dichotomy of abundance that spreads throughout the collection:
            Tarceva (erlotinib) was developed to treat metastatic non-small
            cell lung cancer in patients with an active EGFR mutation who
            have never smoked. Only about a third of patients have this
            mutation. My mom’s oncologist finds it, tells her What luck.
            In a trial, patients using Tarceva had a median survival rate
            of 8.7 months. Tarceva can cause rash, lack of appetite. More
            strangely, it also makes my mom’s eyelashes grow long and
            dense. The nurse says she’s jealous as she trims them with suture
            scissors. You’re like a Kardashian. My mom doesn’t have time
            for reality television; she doesn’t know the Kardashians. Her
            lashes, when she blinks, look so heavy to lift.

This personal, emotional core of the collection is informed by the love and disappointment experienced by the speaker in the poems reflecting on her small hometown in Maine. There’s perseverance in this community, informed by shared values and memory, but these make the loss of community and decay of the town even more painful. The speaker knows, doggedly, there’s little to do but “To make. To make do or do without. To trust your own two / hands, maybe too much” (“A Brief History of Yankee Thrift, Yankee Ingenuity, and Yankee Work Ethic”). There’s nostalgia here, but also realism, hope but also distrust. She continues, “To hear a person / say work and swear he said worth. To do. To do. To abide in spareness and rarely be spared.” A person or a whole community could have done everything right, for example, never smoking as in “A Brief History of Tarceva” or embracing the American Dream as in “A Brief History of Yankee Thrift, Yankee Ingenuity, and Yankee Work Ethic”, and still will “rarely be spared.” This reality cultivates a grief that permeates Certain Shelter, grief for a mother lost to cancer and grief for a town lost to the outsourcing of labor to more affordable overseas markets.
           Both “A Brief History of Tarceva” and “A Brief History of Yankee Thrift, Yankee Ingenuity, and Yankee Work Ethic” are prose poems and show Kiefer’s attention to form. Kiefer frequently utilizes the prose form to report, to share facts, to clarify and commentate and she turns to other forms to complicate and explore the community she paints so vividly through prose. In “Resolutions,” Kiefer’s speaker reflects on parenting without the guidance of a mother and how life’s abundance can feel overwhelming:
            Stop calculating: If I were the one to die,
            could you afford a good sitter? Someone
            who would find adventures—
            streams and boulders, trees for climbing.
            Who would urge our boys with all the ease
            I lacked: Go. Yes, go. What’s the worst
            That can happen?

Kiefer’s line work is on display here. Enjambment always works in her favor, and each individual like functions both independently and with what comes before and after, resulting in rich and textured poems. This complex line work is extended into an experimental space in poems like “Self-Portrait as the Safe Deposit Vault in the Vacant First Trust.” As in “Resolutions,” “Self-Portrait as the Safe Deposit Vault in the Vacant First Trust” works on many levels. Metacommentary is employed to align the speaker with the town, causing her loss to become the town’s loss and vice-versa, and structurally, the poem works like a stereoscope, with two images, built on either side of the page, creating one larger image:
           I only wanted to

            carry out the good work.
Be a two-ton slab 

            shut fast against trouble.
There’s hubris in being 

built to withstand.
I promised to hold 

Everything. Now I’ve lost

even memory: 

the particular weight of a
pocket watch or passport— 

accumulations of a life 

gone.

A straight read of this poem gives you the complete picture, but each margin works independently as well, which adds layer upon layer, weight upon weight, to a poem that explores the pressure of time and memory that weighs on an individual feeling unanchored amid immense loss.
            So what can be done with this weighted grief at the intersection of abundance and overabundance and the waste that it results in? Nodding to lyrical and confessional poetry, Keifer’s emphasis on an ever-present first-person speaker points to the responsibility of the poet as recorder. At the beginning of the collection’s second section, Kiefer invokes the legacy of Maine poet E.A. Robinson who wrote of a fictionalized version of his hometown, where “Its residents falter against change. Against their own failings… / the people endure or they don’t. You can / empathize or not. E.A. isn’t kind. He isn’t unkind, either” (“A Brief History of E.A. Robinson and the Train Station in Gardiner, Maine”). Kiefer’s speaker and her hometown mirror E.A. Robinson and his hometown. Reality is blurry, but truth is explored as a result of a poet taking on the subject of home. Utilizing quatrains, Kiefer expounds on grief and poetry through “I’m So Very Tired”:
            of writing all these sad, sad poems. As if my life
            is only a meditation on its own end. I mean,
            I do think often of mortality. But also I’m among
            such generous pleasures. Five kinds of tea… 

            it should feel like wild indulgence, like overabundance,
            except he loves in a way that says This is your due.
            I have hurt and I have sisters who carry the same
            hurt and we share the carrying of it. We share jokes 
          
  too, like when one of us shakes a fist skyward
            and huffs Carol!, exasperated at our mom
            for dying and leaving us to figure out all this
  hard stuff for ourselves, like what should we do

  about these defiant kids and were we defiant too?
  Did we turn out okay? Oh Carol. We miss you.
  Can I say that here, reader? In this poem about being
  less melancholy? Because it is solace to say it plainly. 

  I had a mother and I miss her and I have joy
  and a garden. The turkeys amble around it.
  I’ve learned to care for plants, to know them
  by leaf and bloom.

The poet’s way of parsing out grief from nostalgia and determining what to do with those emotions is through writing. In a rural space slowly wasting away or a family missing its central figures, the poet must fill the empty space with words to make sense of it all.
            The power of Certain Shelter lies in its clarity: Kiefer’s clear-eyed speaker, fearless engagement with lyrical and confessional poetry, and sharp use of form. The threads Kiefer weaves of small-town life, rural decline, family illness, and parenting ultimately knit together a story that’s beautiful and well-defined, even as the emotions she explores are nebulous and personal. Certain Shelters is a must read for anyone who has known loss, but it’s so much more than a grief memoir or an elegy. It’s a glimpse into daily American life in a changing, wider world and a call to action for writers everywhere to write their own true story.

In case you missed it—here is Abbie Kiefer’s poem from The Shore:

Growing Season with Losses

In the Current with Siobhan Jean-Charles Issue 15

Dear Reader,

Issue 15 is filled with a little blasphemy, an eclipse that stops traffic and butchered names. Dear reader, it is also my favorite issue of The Shore. Stare at these poems too long and they may hurt your eyes with their illuminating language and insights.

Here is what the issue 15 contributors have been up to since:

Michael Emmanuel was nominated for Best of the Net, had work anthologized in 20.35 Africa and was featured in Plume Poetry’s 5 Under 35.

Jill Crammond published her first chapbook, Handbook for Unwell Mothers.

Ali Wood published a poem in Frontier Poetry.

Amy Wang had work recognized by the New York Times, The Asian American Writers’ Workshop and The Scholastic Art and Writing Awards. She has published poems in The Adroit Journal, Waxwing, Kissing Dynamite and others.

Lynne Ellis published poems in The Missouri Review, North American Review, Sugar House Review and more.

Doug Ramspeck was the third place winner of Narrative Magazine’s 2024 Winter Story Contest. He published poetry in The Sun Magazine, Rattle, Rhino Poetry and more.

Robert Carr published poems in Chestnut Review, The Offing, Third Wednesday Magazine and others.

Nano Taggart published a poem in Pilgrimage Magazine.

Mary Ford Neal had work featured in One Art: a journal of poetry, Couplet Poetry, After Poetry and others.

Jessica Baldanzi published a poem in Exposition Review.

Anne Cheilek is an MFA candidate at San Jose University and published poems in Rhino Poetry, Cider Press Review, Reed Magazine and more.

Jeanna Paden recently published a debut poetry collection with Finishing Line Press titled Premonition.

Elizabeth Joy Levinson published poems in Beaver Magazine, West Trestle Review, Gyroscope and more.

Juliana Gray published a poem in Poetry Northwest.

Madelyn Musick had poems in Bodega Magazine and Somerville Arts Council.

Ryler Dustin published a poetry collection with University of Pittsburg Press titled Trailer Park Psalms which won the Agnes Lynch Starrett Poetry Prize. He published poems in The Missouri Review, The Slowdown Podcast with Major Jackson, Green Linden Press and other journals.

Michelle Park published a poem in Agapanthus Collective.

McKenzie Teter published poems in Litmosphere and Volney Road Review.

Lawrence Di Stefano published poems in Tupelo Quarterly, Waxwing, Sugar House Review and more.

Alicia Byrne Keane published work in Acumen Journal, Irish Independent, The Galway Review and other journals.

Erin Little graduated with an MFA from Louisiana State University. She published a debut poetry chapbook, Personal Injury, which won the 2023 Chestnut Review Chapbook Prize.

Abigail Chang published poems in Redivider, diode poetry journal, The Los Angeles Review and other journals.

Ion Corcos published poems in The Hyacinth Review and The Woodward Review.

Alec Hershman published a poetry collection with Midwest Writing Center titled, For a Second, In the Dark.

Alison Hurwitz published work in Anti-Heroin Chic and was anthologized in Poetry in the Time of Coronavirus and Global Poemic.

Rachel Walker published poetry in Lunch Ticket, trampset and JMWW.

Jared Beloff published poetry in The Baltimore Review, Kissing Dynamite, Crab Creek Review and more.

Sarah Wallis published poetry in Dust Magazine, The Winged Moon, Full Mood Mag and others.

Brooke Harries published poems in Cleaver Magazine.

Adam Day published poems in The Los Angeles Review, No Contact Mag, The Broadkill Review and other journals.

Maria Hiers published work in Two Hawks Quarterly.

Bobby Parrott published poems in Across the Margins, Bruiser Magazine, oddball magazine and others.

Hannah Schoettmer had work in Brooklyn Poets and Rust & Moth.

Lora Robinson published a poem in Pine Hills Review.

Jesse Fleming published a poem in Backstory Journal.

Taylor Cornelius published a poem in The Penn Review.

Jennifer Metsker published work in Dialogist, The Inflectionist Review, Epiphany and other journals.

Gary Fox read at The Shore’s 2023 Earth Day Eco-Poetry reading.

Annalee Roustio published a poem in Rhino Poetry.

Kaelyn Wright’s photography can be found at kaelynwright.com

Congratulations on your achievements! We cannot wait to see what you do next.

Best,

Siobhan Jean-Charles

Best of the Net Nominees 2024

Dear Wonderful Readers,

We are overjoyed to announce our 2024 Best of the Net Nominees!

Madeline Allen “Click Bug”
Marisa Lainson “Old Scabs”
Sarah Mills “The world is ending & I’m crying in the Taco Bell parking lot”
Susan Muth “Daughter Bugle”
Lexi Pelle “The Nuns Came by Bus”
Tara Westmor “Lesser Muse”

These poems just keep coming back to us. We hope you will reread them now to celebrate and rediscover their magic. Thanks so much to all our contributors for wowing us every issue and BIG GRATS to our nominees!

With deep admiration,

The Shore Crew

Review: Ben Groner III

On Dust Storms May Exist by Ben Groner III

by Tyler Truman Julian

Dust Storms May Exist, Ben Groner III’s full-length debut, is a tour de force in the deeply American road trip narrative. The poems of Dust Storms May Exist traverse the American (and South American) landscape and the rise and fall of the human soul. Groner’s poems explore memory, health, and identity, always circling around the theme that life is full of small miracles. These seemingly ordinary moments are where memories are forged, life is lived despite challenges, and identity is shaped. Groner’s descriptive and narrative style beautifully captures the essence of daily life, presenting it as nothing short of miraculous.
            The collection opens with “The Window,” and Groner’s speaker longs for experience, gazing out on the world from a rented room:

            There is a sense my entire life is out
            there, verging and pulsing, waiting.
            Maybe existence in any meaningful
            sense requires both embodiment
            and action.

This desire for action begets motion. The poem continues,

            I set my pen aside, close my journal,
            turn out the light, the hills blazing and
            shimmering in silence. I wonder how
            long I have been holding my breath.

Groner effectively introduces the reader to the collection’s philosophy of life, while his descriptive and narrative style keeps the work accessible. There’s a remarkable depth here that continues throughout the collection in each seemingly mundane moment.
In “Feed & Seed,” the speaker establishes the road trip narrative that drives the collection forward and highlights the growing significance of each ordinary moment. A stop along the road results in a visit to a small-town church turned dance hall one Saturday night, and it becomes a reflection on home and meaning making. “Perhaps not one of us can go home / again, but who would want to?” the speaker asks, then continues,
           
            places don’t seem to have meaning
            until people bestow it. At times,

            we may need to pray; at others, we
            need to dance. What are our bodies 

            supposed to do with space, with
            themselves? We whirled the night

            away until the band closed out their
            set with Hank’s classic gospel hymn.

            Standing by the front pew, the whole
            room singing, I’ll fly away oh glory,

            we let our shoulders lean and touch,
            my eyes pressed shut, my lungs belting

            out the tune with all their might,
            feeling as if some unsayable place

            within me had already taken flight.

Here and elsewhere, these everyday moments take on a spiritual dimension, and Groner is unafraid to explore these heights while his speaker waxes philosophical. In “To Which We Are Going,” a reflection on John 6:16-21, the speaker retells the story of Peter and Jesus walking on water and the apostles’ boat miraculously arriving at the seashore seconds later. He then clarifies,

            And that’s where it ends. Talk about
            a cliffhanger. The walking on water bit
            gets all the attention while the teleportation
            is hardly mentioned, as if the existence
            of one miracle precludes the need for another.
            But my days are filled with phenomena
            I flounder to explain, pairs of realities
            I’ve never imagined nor deserved,
            one story always leaning into the next. 

            How the achiote carnitas tacos
            from La Mulita Express #2 food truck
            last week were generously garnished
            with both cilantro and lime; how in a month
            both a low-hanging, smoldering bead of sun
            and a nascent crescent will share the sky’s vast
            dome; how in two years the turbulent passions
            of Verdi’s Il trovatore will surge from both
            the unseen orchestra pit and the opera
            singers strutting upon the stage.

These little things are placed on the same plane as the two miracles in the Gospel of John. This focus on the mundane is subversive. Religious experience is unnecessary for one to be filled with wonder and awe. “But I’m not asking for revelation,” the speaker further explains.

            I don’t need to be taken anywhere,
            don’t wish the scroll of my days
            unfurled and dissected. I welcome
            the breeze rolling off the ridge
            into sky the color of spring.
            I turn to face the pine-lined trail
            to which I am going and set off
            on two resolved legs, forging ahead
            with the first, and then the other.

Groner’s approachable poetry, combined with his frequent philosophical flights, emphasizes the speaker’s personal growth and evolving sense of self. By the end of the collection, this identity exhibits a sense of fluidity, achieved through the freedom of actively engaging in life rather than merely observing from the sidelines. This sense of freedom and fluidity leads to deeper introspection:

            so what should I make of this moment?
            or this one? 

           what state are we in anyway? 

            what state are we in the midst
         of being?                                                                                             (“State of Being”)

Notably, Groner’s style has changed in “State of Being.” The poem still contains narrative and descriptive moments, but it culminates in these probing broken couplets that lack capitalization and standard grammar, emphasizing the speaker’s grappling with mystery and miracle. Expectedly, these rules return in the collection’s last poem, “Precarious Cairns,” to punctuate the importance of the lessons presented throughout the collection. In a type of coda, Groner’s speaker gives the reader a parting reminder that little miracles make up a life and one must go out and do something to experience them. In “Precarious Cairns,” he explains,

            First it was about the sights I was seeing, then
            who I was seeing them with. The land itself,
            then the sensation of soaring above it. 

            First it was about music, history, geography,
            regional cuisine and lore, then simply
            an adventure shared with a girl, a friend. 

            So much has been given and received:
            conversations, months, bodies—
            the precarious cairns of memory.           
…          
            A few tendrils of knowledge, of truth,
            have yet to be pressed into a page, a song.
            It has taken me so long to be inside my own life.

Verging on ars poetica, “Precarious Cairns” reinforces Groner’s philosophy that life is made up of little moments that one gives meaning to and looks back on.
           Dust Storms May Exist is a powerful debut. Throughout the collection, Ben Groner III embraces profundity while balancing it with accessible and engaging narrative poetry, making the exploration both thought-provoking and enjoyable. The pages are infused with a refreshing sense of hopefulness that stands out in contemporary poetry. The reader is invited into the journey of one man’s life and challenged to go out and live their own through “embodiment / and action.” Dust Storms May Exist reminds us to stop holding our breath.

In case you missed it—here are Ben Groner III’s poems from The Shore:

If My Physical Ailments Took a Road Trip

C Boarding Group

Review: Christopher Blackman

On Three-Day Weekend by Christopher Blackman

by Tyler Truman Julian

In a Whitmanesque style, Christopher Blackman’s Three-Day Weekend catalogues vivid East Coast cityscapes and populates them with nostalgia, loneliness, and the beauty of little joys. In this way, he explores hope and human connection with humor and attention to detail that makes his poetry particularly strong.

            From its opening poem, Three-Day Weekend asserts itself as a collection of highly contemporary and universally relatable poetry. The age-old question, who am I, moves between the lines as the speaker establishes himself, and the reader is expected to wrestle with it alongside the speaker. The speaker invites us into his urban Americana, reporting through Blackman’s signature descriptive poetics,

            We stood in a crowd beneath strings of lights,
            each of us moved by possibility, joined
            in vague conspiracy, giving the night
            the feeling that cranes could carry a camera above us,
            were it all a film, to denote our scale, to denote the rush
            of being in the right place at the right time—

(“Feast of St. Michael and All Angels”)

This euphoria is swiftly tempered by Blackman’s speaker and the urban setting—reminiscent of Whitman’s crowded Manhattan—when he announces later in the same poem: “All the best things happen in parking lots—” Yet, this is the first hint of the small joys that Blackman and his speaker are pointing the reader to. It also represents Blackman’s shrewd use of the volta in his poetry, moments in which his poems turn and grow in both meaning and strength. These moments coupled with thoughtful enjambment in his less structured poems show Blackman’s skill as a poet. Three-Day Weekend is never dry; it perpetually draws the reader toward some deeper revelation.

Blackman’s emphasis on little joys and their role in self-making builds across the collection. His speaker embraces the ebb and flow of urban life, craving connection and freedom to be himself. The imagery of parking lots, introduced earlier in the collection, is fully elaborated as the speaker reveals,

           But we still have green
           in its many forms—
           on lawns and boulevards,
           under the noontime sun.
           How I love lunch in the summer—
           how good it feels to be allowed,
           by law, to experience opulence:
           sitting back in your car
           in the Burger King parking lot,
           food laid on your dashboard

(“Lunch in Summer”)

The urban landscape isn’t stifling for Blackman’s speaker. Rather he uses its busyness, its sheer volume of noise and people, as a crutch—a reality of which he is painfully self-aware. “I’m sensitive to the unique loneliness / of the state fairground forty-nine weeks of the year,” he laments in “Two Tickets to Paradise,” adding,
            and the mall Santa in June,
            and anything, really, that is an eyesore
            out of its single context, returning me always
            to the question “Is it better to be versatile
            or to specialize?” Now I have everything
            I want and still there is more to want—

These moments of painful self-reflection that Blackman presents are not only relatable and poignant, but also often laced with humor. In “Stooges,” the speaker delves deeper into this juxtaposition more deeply:
            The saying goes “if you don’t laugh
            you’ll cry” and though I do a good bit
            of both I learned quickly
            a person wears a joke the way
            a man training dogs wears a bite suit—
            both as armor and as a tool to train animals
            the best ways to draw blood. My sister says
            I look like John Hinkley Jr.,
            Reagan’s almost-assassin, and so I laugh.

This humor poses a challenge to the reader by prompting them to reflect on humor’s role as escapism and connection-building, and often these profound moments take on a more structured form. Blackman showcases this in “Terminal,” employing tercets to give the reader a pattern to help absorb the poem’s significance:
            I take inventory of my sins. My life
            has been a sequence of desperate acts
            in the service of being wanted. I lie awake 

            and draft unimpeachable defenses
            for my personality, knowing that one day
            I will have to answer for myself.

Three-Day Weekend repeatedly invites readers to empathize with Blackman’s speaker throughout and, ultimately, grasp the poignant loneliness that echoes through its pages, reminiscent of Whitman’s call for a new “hand ever day!”

            Three-Day Weekend captures the subtle and authentic moments of a real life and should appeal to all readers, urban, rural, old, and young. Blackman’s attempt to draw readers into the narrative with descriptive and humorous situations turned profound effectively crafts deep connection throughout the collection. While the speaker is left yearning for his own personal connections and exists in much the same mental space at the end of the collection as at the beginning, the reader recognizes their own life—or at least a life wrestling with universal questions of acceptance and identity—in this collection. Three-Day Weekend is a collection for the nostalgic and the introspective, a testament to the human experience in all of its searching for—and making of—meaning. It is a collection for us all.

In case you missed it—here is Christopher Blackman’s poem from The Shore:

Meditation at Colonial Williamsburg

In the Current with Siobhan Jean-Charles Issue 14

Dear Reader,

Issue 14 is filled with surprise and danger. One of the first poems describes a counterfeit prophet. Another tells the story of a young boy stabbed in the heart by a fish, and later he is outpaced by the swiftness and intelligence of an octopus. Throughout the issue, a child stirs potions from rainwater and rose petals. Hunters are led into darkness, and magic is practiced safely when the adults are unaware.

Flourish Joshua was long listed for the 2022 Frontier OPEN Prize. He had recent poems in Tinderbox Poetry Journal, No Contact Mag, Isele Magazine and others.

Aron Wander was nominated for the Best of the Net.

James Kelly Quigley published poems in Dialogist and The Banyan Review.

KJ Li published a poem in Overheard Lit.

Meghan Sterling recently received three Pushcart nominations and published poems in Rappahannock Review, Ghost City Press, Subnivean Journal and others.

Alyx Chandler was nominated for Best of the Net. She recently had work in The Penn Review, Texas Review Press, Moon City Review and others.

Derek N Otsuji recently published poems in swamp pink, Cider Press Review, Rappahannock Review and others.

Robert Fanning recently published poems in diode poetry journal, 3Cents Magazine and Good River Review.

Siobhan Jean-Charles recently published poems in Tinderbox Poetry Journal, The Tusculum Review and Furrow Literary Magazine. She was once your social media manager and is now your blog editor.

Ariel Machell published poems in Barely South Review, The Inflectionist Review and Up The Staircase Quarterly.

V Batyko published work in New Orleans Review, Fugue Journal and Zone3.

Marcy Rae Henry was featured in the 2023 Best New Poets Anthology and published a chapbook titled We Are Primary Colors with Doublecross Press. She published poems in RHINO, Moon City Review and ONE ART: A Journal of Poetry, along with several other pieces of visual art, fiction and nonfiction.

Hannah Rifell published a poem in Blue Marble Review.

Anne Taylor has designed and hosted movement based poetry workshops.

Lily Beaumont was nominated for a Pushcart Prize and published poems in Sweet Tree Review, Halfway Down the Stairs and Willows Wept Review.

Jennifer Martelli was the 2022 winner of Riddled With Arrows Literary Journal’s Ars Poetica Prize. Recent work appeared in Painted Bride Quarterly, Atticus Review, Jet Fuel Review and others.

Lisa Trudeau published poems in The Inflectionist Review.

Kimberly Kralowec published poems in North American Review, American Literary Review, Parentheses Journal and others.

Laura Vitcova published a poem in The Orchards Poetry Journal.

John MacNeill Miller had work in Peatsmoke Journal and The Hopper.

Aaron Magloire published poems in diode poetry journal, Boston Review, Barnstorm Journal and others.

Abdulkareem Abdulkareem published poems in Waxwing, Southern Humanities Review, West Trade Review and elsewhere.

Molly Tenenbaum published a poem in Disquieting Muses Quarterly.

Joseph Housley published poems in Nashville Review and the Niagara Falls Project.

Kayla Rutledge has work published or forthcoming in Coffee People Zine, Citron Review and EDDA Journal.

Samuel Burt was the 2022 winner of the AWP’s Intro Journals Project. He published poems in Colorado Review, Portland Review, Beaver Magazine and elsewhere.

Chris Kingsley published poetry in Pine Trees.

James Owens published poetry in Still: The Journal.

Alexandre Ferrere published a poem in The Banyan Review.

Urvashi Bahuguna has poems published or forthcoming in Copper Nickel, The Adroit Journal, Gulf Coast and elsewhere.

Amanda Roth was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She had poems in Hayden’s Ferry Review, Portland Review, Thimble Literary Magazine and others.

Jory Mickelson published a microchapbook, titled Plunder with Ghost City Press (2023). They had poems in Poetry Northwest, Terrain.org, Josephine Quarterly Review and others.

Miceala Morano published poems in Up the Staircase Quarterly, Pidgeonholes Magazine, Healthline Zine and more.

Seth Leeper published poems in Prairie Schooner, Poet Lore, Denver Quarterly and others. 

Michael Lauchlan published poems in Valparaiso Poetry Review, ONE ART: a journal of poetry and The Westchester Review.

Summer Smith published a poem in Third Wednesday.

Mary Lou Buschi published a book titled Blue Physics with Lily Poetry Review Press (2024). She published poems in Ploughshares, Sweet Lit, The Banyan Review and others.

Jack B Bedell had poems in Verse Daily, Broadkill Review, Beaver Magazine and others.

Adam Gianforcaro published a book titled Every Living Day with Thirty West Publishing House (2023). He published poems in The Offing, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, Couplet Poetry and more.

Robert Beveridge published poems in JMWW, Antarctica Journal, WordCityLit and others.

You can find more of Roger McChargue’s photography on Instagram @r_mcrg.

Congratulations on all your accomplishments! We can’t wait to see what you do next.

Best,

Siobhan Jean-Charles