მარიამ კაკაურიძე (Mariam Kakauridze)
In a place where the mountains kiss the sky, so blue,
And the morningland besprays with the dew
One hill to another extends the vineyards,
Every breath, a song, so low, so soundless.
The rivers run as silver lace,
On through dale with force and grace.
The bells of the churches there ring from stone so old,
Their echoes warm, their silence bold.
And the dust, with each tread, will sing,
Of heroes and hearts, and freedom’s wing.
No diamond shines, no one can buy,
The love that raises a Georgian sky.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
This was inspired by the poem "ოდესმე დიდი ყოფილა საქართველო" ("Georgia was once great") by მურმან ლებანიძე (Murman Lebanidze).
Matthew Freeman
Lying awake impossible
all night with a wrenching brain.
You gotta laugh. If possible.
But I mean really, God, really.
Turn into some Yeats, some Frost.
Those great big booming voices
you’ve waited upon
have finally found you out.
You were born for
intense poverty, hatred and disgust.
And all the beautiful things
inside you
you can’t bring yourself to say.
Absolution. Fever dreams.
Starting off identical
and ending up cast out.
Dying all the time until you really are dead.
Everything you’ve known
has been corrupted.
It’s all so stupidly clear now.
Still, say something beautiful.
BIO
Matthew Freeman's new book, Dopamine and the Devil, will soon be released by Coffeetown Press. He holds an MFA from the University of Missouri-St Louis and writes about his recovery from a dual diagnosis.
Richard Long
From the first word all I wanted
was to say something beautiful
like a child who points up in wonder
and names the moon Ghost Moon.
I wanted to convey a beautiful word,
one shining like the bell of your afterward.
I’m sorry if I muffled it and all you heard
was the moan of a deadbeat ghost.
So it goes. Sometimes failure is a warning
and when it peals down a snowy mountain
it is already too late to escape the avalanche.
Somewhere from the rubble of your language
will rise the word. It will ring in the voice box
of your memory. Beautiful word. Godspeed.
BIO
Richard Long is Professor Emeritus of English at St. Louis Community College, now living in Santa Rosa, California. He is the founder and editor of 2River (https://2river.org/).
Naa Asheley Ashitey
Yesterday, I sat as an audience to a crowd of marigolds at the Capitol. The wind was silent on that particular day, and so they stood tall and still, slightly casting a shadow over the freshly cut grass. A young couple began to cross my irises, and they too stopped and looked at those same marigolds, uncrossing their hands, their shoulders becoming more relaxed. I imagine they were just as captivated by their vibrance as I was. The taller one of the two placed his hand upon the other man’s back. That man responded by resting his head upon the other’s shoulder. A small black car drove in front of my view, and for a second, I could no longer see the marigolds, nor the two men. Once the car passed, I saw one of the men wipe his eyes before collapsing into the other’s chest. I was too far away to hear anything, but watching his back collapse and rise repeatedly, I found myself aware that the man had succumbed to sobs. His partner held him closer. A cool breeze had decided to pass. The marigolds and grass swayed in the background as the two men stayed still, holding each other with a grip that suggested even a million adjectives could not define its significance. The wind came to a standstill, and I saw that one of the marigolds had fallen over, just in front of the couple. I imagine she wanted to extend her small shadow to also protect their moment.
BIO
Naa Asheley Afua Adowaa Ashitey (She/Her/Hers) is a Chicago-born writer and an MD-PhD Student at UW-Madison School of Medicine and Public Health. She is interested in the intersection of scientific research, medicine and the humanities. Her works have been published or forthcoming in Broken Antler, The Inflectionist Review, JAKE, The B’K Magazine, Abstract, and more.