Review by Sara Epstein In her debut collection, Jordemoder: Poems of a Midwife, Ingrid Andersson takes us on a journey through her life as a Swedish daughter who becomes a midwife, mother, invandrare (immigrant), and shares reflections about home. Andersson lives in Madison, Wisconsin. She has practiced as a home-birth nurse midwife for over 20 years. She has studied poetry and literature in four languages, as well as anthropology, at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Her poetry has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, and has appeared in Ars Medica, Eastern Iowa Review, Mom Egg…
Author: Mom Egg Review
Linea Nigra: An Essay on Pregnancy & Earthquakes by Jazmina Barrera, Translated by Christina MacSweeney Review by Kimberly Lee As is custom, Jazmina Barrera’s latest work begins with a dedication: “To whom it concerns (Silvestre, Alejandro, and Tere) and to whomsoever it may concern.” That last phrase captures a subtle proposition, that the contents of Linea Nigra: An Essay on Pregnancy & Earthquakes likely involve all of us, whether child or parent. Translated by Christina MacSweeney, the book and its subject matter are indeed universal, with undulating musings that sooth and sustain, like a lullaby. The result is a candid…
Review by Lara Lillibridge XO is an autobiographical essay spanning 157 pages, divided into chapters. It is Rauch’s second book. Her first, What Shines from It, published by Alternating Current Press, won the Electric Book Award. Rauch holds an MFA from Pacific University and resides in Massachusetts, where she is an independent editor and writing instructor. XO investigates “mythologies of romantic love, connections to the divine, & the death/rebirth cycle.” (SaraRauch.com) Once upon a time, I fell in love with another woman and set out to build a life with her. Once upon a time, I fell in love…
Summer / Girl – A Literary Folio Featuring poetry, fiction, and prose by Richelle Buccilli – Dear Backyard Honeysuckle Vanessa Napolitano – Yellow Cabinet Emily Patterson – Near the Fourth of July in a Pandemic Kelly Sue White – River Summer Terri Linton – Boogie Down Girls Tiffany Sciacca – P.F. 1982 Elizabeth Fergason – Behindland/August Jennifer Jean – Nature Quinn Rennerfeldt – Goodwill In The Era of Girls Mary Lou Buschi – Spotting Susanna Rich – Last Night Before Viet Nam D.W. McKinney – Sun Tea Nicole Callihan – Summer Sorrows Lindsay Adkins – Untitled Elisabeth Adwin Edwards…
Richelle Buccilli Dear backyard honeysuckle Past the fresh lumber of the new wood fence, past the heat of late May sweating on our foreheads, past smoke, past clay, past dirt, past even the diesel fumes, you stay. As if you could become a tree, I want to wrap my arms around you, live there in a sweet weight of love so familiar it crushes me. I had been searching for the right word, any word to name the thing I couldn’t get enough of. My husband behind me, lifts his chin in understanding. Oh, yellow bell. Oh, gold diamond…
Vanessa Napolitano Yellow Cabinet You painted the drawers with gilt handles yellow, out in the garden. Seven months pregnant, a neckerchief fashioned into a hat. Black and orange paisley in your hair and your hair long and chestnut. Your shoulders and neck pinked. The weeds grew high around you. The growing seemed to go on even as you painted, as if they came up and up with the brush. The heat painted along, everything blurred and wet. How immobile it feels to be seven months pregnant. How static the heat, but it can only have been late May. You left…
Emily Patterson Near the Fourth of July in a Pandemic The summer you were born, fireworks sputtered and crackled every night for weeks, briefly luminous. Roused from sleep by the weight of you, I heard them still, even as the sky blued. One hand to my belly to catch your kicks, I wondered who stayed awake lighting fuse after fuse—igniting Chrysanthemums and Catherine Wheels, ashes settling in the grass like spent confetti, beads of light growing dim against the dawn. When I finally held your body to mine, near that Fourth of July in a pandemic, I wondered how…
Kelly Sue White River Summer The days of slow flow river time, canoe banked on a sandy spit, the kids- their bathing suit bellies full of cherries in ankle deep water. Little red fingers grabbed at sunlight. Fists full of river silt, coppertone and paw paws heavy heady hanging down. Already some dropped, sandy sugar rot swarmed with flies and ferment. Remember? Remember – I made us necklaces of silver and a single shark tooth. We strung that summer on sterling, fishing line, on river rock, Coors Light cans and white wine from a box, buzzed up sunlight river…
Terri Linton Boogie Down Girls I. Mister Softee croons his hood melody. We clamor and crowd, chests to backs filling our sweltering Bronx street. Sprinkles drip their rainbow sweetness from vanilla-wafered cones. Ready, set, they race down our bleached tanks and tees. Tidal wave hydrants drown our un-sunblocked blackened skin. Clear drops mask yesterday’s tear drops, take flight in search of our crowns. They baptize every coil every wave every cornrow every braid. We are adorned and adored. It’s our time. Summer time. A Boogie Down special occasion. Cars ride by with booming systems, and bangin’ chicks posted in…
Tiffany Sciacca P.F. 1982 10 was a reasonable age. Old enough to appreciate the glow of a firefly in the dark cup of your best friend’s hands. Wishing through her fingers for longer summers, longer legs, less pain. Behind you, the older boys swarm like bees: electric skin and elbow jabs. Pulling invisible rank to make unbalanced teams as their younger sisters resist the calls to cheer, favoring the outfield. And in three years when you are their age, you may still find fascination in that glow. Or bored by fireflies, opt to hang out in bedrooms stuffing tissues…