Review by Michelle Panik Splashed on the cover of Everything’s Changing is a woman in glamorous sunglasses and a headwrap à la Jackie O, her figure a 3-D image edged with bright colors. And, indeed, the people within Chelsea Stickle’s flash fiction are photorealistic. Firmly entrenched in magical realism that bends both whimsical and darkly cautionary, place figures largely into the stories. Many are set in close communities—in one, a neighborhood is overrun by vandalizing peacocks; in another, people shoot cardinals in the desperate hope that they will bring good fortune. And while Stickle’s landscapes are richly imaginative, it’s…
Author: Mom Egg Review
Review by Ana C.H. Silva Dragonfly Morning, consisting of twenty poems, heavily illustrated over its fifty one pages by both Eihmane and Bridget Irving, put out by Being Books, is a wonderful follow up to Eihmane’s recent chapbook, One Day at the Taiwan Land Museum. Eihmane, a transplant to Taiwan from her native Latvia, pulls in the big-lunged breaths of someone in a new land who finds more of herself as she integrates the beauty, objects, and sensibilities of a place into her way of being. The way a new context energizes, sharpens, and informs the senses is especially…
MER 21 Launch Reading to take place Sunday, May 21st at the Jefferson Market Library in NYC.
Poetry Prompts by Anne Graue Anne Graue’s April Poem-a-Day Challenge Yes, it’s National Poetry Month again, and poets everywhere are thinking about writing a poem a day to celebrate while others are compiling lists of prompts to share with those poets. Here is my list of prompts for the month of April! These prompts first appeared in The Westchester Review in 2021. Happy Writing! Daily Prompts Do them in order or mix-and-match! Your choice! Day 1: Check out the history of April Fools’ Day here: https://www.britannica.com/topic/April-Fools-Day. Write a poem without using the word fool, or, in keeping…
Sherine Gilmour Tired Parent Wanting Poem I want to be in a hot tub filled with macaroni and cheese. I want to be sleeping alone in a large bed. I want to be surfing the Internet for new shoes, too expensive for our budget. I want to be asleep while having sex and eating mac-n-cheese. I want to sleep-sex with someone famous and beautiful, but I can’t think of anybody right now. I want to stop hearing bad news. I want the Internet to be only pictures of kittens or babies, not quick news bytes about children killed by…
Mothers Respond – MER Online Poetry Folio Curated by Jennifer Martelli and Cindy Veach Featuring: Alise Alousi, Christy Lee Barnes, DeMisty D. Bellinger, Marisol Cortez, Suzanne Edison, Jenn Givhan, Elisabeth Weiss, Jessie Zechnowitz Lim, Natalie Marino, Rachel Neve-Midbar, Amy Ralston Seife, Sarah Sassoon, Lesley Wheeler, Angelique Zobitz Read our March Poem of the Month
You thought you heard a whale, a wail, a wailing. Assumed a woman’s voice, a stance to view the mess. —Alise Alouisi, “I Am Not Your Mother” The poems in the MOTHERS RESPOND folio refuse to look away from landscapes ravaged by war, climate change, racial injustice, reproductive injustice, even though, as DeMisty D. Bellinger tells us in “On Raising Black Kids,” “My heart aches. This is/fucking hard.” These are poems of witness and testimony. They defy life “in Confederatelandia,” as Lesley Wheeler tells us, with their insistence on love, family, and community. “Listen, “ Marisol Cortez demands, “we’re not…
Angelique Zobitz A woman walks into the woods—seeking strength and she finds a metaphor in the woods a brown twig snaps, motes dance dead things give way to new now never—not—husk or shell she’ll stretch so far that she can forget what’s outside the forest. Forage as winged things flutter remember she used to believe in fairies finds that even the smallest stings are still so much better than being the brown twig snapping from too much pressure and not enough sunlight. Recall she is a tree with deep roots, providing canopy for seeds that will grow in her…
Lesley Wheeler Permit for Demolition The front porch collapsed in a slow-clap of bricks. Next morning, a bulldozer coaxed the tin roof down. Hoses settled billows of particles—wood splinters, mold, plaster, clay baked a hundred and thirty years ago. It was tragic and riveting. It drew a camera-phone crowd. The house that’s gone has a twin; they were built by brothers. When the survivor was last on sale, a friend heard a whisper on the attic stairs: We’re glad you’re here. She walked away. This street is a jawbone of mismatched fangs. My wooden four-by-four sits on a tiny…
Sarah Sassoon Tunnels that Lie Under My House I am mother of boys mother of prayers for everyone to live in a house where mothers sleep at night I know of words that dig deep tunnels disturbing deep dreams I know of jewelry confiscated at borders I know what it is to live on a border of sons pitted against sons we all seek shelter under tin tarp wood under deep blue sky all our houses are in danger of slipping during heavy rain Sometimes I wonder if I dreamt last night a year’s worth of dreams to fill…