Archives for posts with tag: museums

I Visit the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum
a Few Months after My Divorce

by Jennifer Finstrom

and know, without wading into the water, that it is both cold and deep. I should have worn my necklace made from shipwreck pottery, ceramic fragment smoothed by tongues of sand, sliver of broken plate speaking the language of mourning brooches worn by Victorian ladies.

When the Edmund Fitzgerald was lost with her crew on November 10, 1975, I was six years old. Twenty years later, the ship’s bronze bell was brought to the surface, the centerpiece of the museum. It will be what I remember most from this visit, and I want to put out my hand and stroke its cold flank, listen for what it can tell me of silence.

Later, walking the beach, I imagine what mermaids would swim off Whitefish Point, see them in winter coats with shiny fish scales in place of fur. They circle the lighthouse, carry spears instead of tridents, bear souls in their arms to an underwater Valhalla.

I take six stones with me when I leave. They stand for someone’s death. I don’t know whose.

PHOTOGRAPH: The bell from the SS Edmund Fitzgerald on display at the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Michigan’s Upper Peninsula comes into my poetry quite often, and even though I’ve vacationed in other places over the years, when I read this call for submissions, I knew that I’d write something about the UP.

Finstrom Vacation

Jennifer Finstrom
 teaches in the First-Year Writing Program, tutors in writing, and facilitates a writing group, Writers Guild, at DePaul University. She has been the poetry editor of Eclectica Magazine since October of 2005, and recent publications include Escape Into LifeMidwestern GothicNEAT, and YEW Journal. She also has work appearing in the Silver Birch Press The Great Gatsby Anthology and forthcoming in the Alice in Wonderland Anthology.

PHOTO: The author on vacation (in Evanston, near her home city of Chicago) this year.

Days Inn
by Jeremy Dixon

He didn’t take to Pittsburgh.
It was Labour Day Sunday
and everywhere seemed shut,
apart from a deserted Macy’s,
where he used the restroom.

He surprised himself, stayed
three hours at the Warhol,
watched a film of Veruschka
running New York traffic
for an Interview shoot.

The driver used a stylus to text
as they bumped to the motel
opposite a K-Mart parking lot.
What he saw from his room
was a sky of impossible blue.

PHOTOGRAPH: The author’s self-portrait at The Warhol in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: This poem is about a one-night stopover in Pittsburgh that came right in the middle of my dream holiday to the USA, when I visited Emily Dickinson’s home in Amherst and toured as many Frank Lloyd Wright buildings as I could cram into three weeks.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Jeremy Dixon lives in South Wales and makes Artist’s Books that combine poetry and photography. His poems have appeared in The Found Poetry Review, Really System, Riptide Journal, Roundyhouse, and other online and print magazines. Find out more at, or follow him on Twitter @HazardPressUK.