The Krispy Kreme That Used to Be on Austin Hwy. by Kate Soupiset (ONE GOOD MEMORY Series)

The Krispy Kreme That Used to Be on Austin Hwy.
by Kate Soupiset

Waiting in line during our post-church donut run, Mom asks about
baby names, wants our input. I am pudgy and nearly five — I live
for Dora the Explorer and sugar. What will soon be kid #4 presses
against the edges of Mom as I press my nose against the glass,
watching golden rings pass under a milky curtain of glaze and come
out glistening on the other side.

“We should name her Glazed,” I offer. Whether I was serious, I
don’t remember, but it must’ve come from some craving for
for sweetness, waiting for a little warm thing to hold in my hands.

PHOTO: Krispy Kreme donuts by Surya Nair.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: My younger sister was beautifully named Emma and came to mind when I first wrote this poem for a prompt about a place that doesn’t exist anymore. Hence a piece about a long-forgotten Krispy Kreme location but that originated a family inside joke. This poem is the origin of our family becoming complete with Emma as the fourth and final child.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Kate Soupiset is a fourth-year student at DePaul University. They are the author of the poetry collection False Anatomy and the chapbook Old Love / New Love. Their poems have been published in various university literary magazines, including the University of the Incarnate Word’s Quirk, University of Washington St. Louis’ Spires, and DePaul’s very own The Orange Couch. Kate grew up in San Antonio, Texas, and plans to become a Chicago public school teacher.

Sonnet to my Sister: For Minnie Mouse by Caroline Johnson (BEACH AND POOL MEMORIES Poetry and Prose Series)

Sonnet to my Sister: For Minnie Mouse
by Caroline Johnson

A tattooed man hugs a cobra at Disney World.
Jugglers balance on chairs and bottles of wine.
Later, Chloe dances in the sand as waves swirl.
Jacob searches for hermit crabs in the brine.

Their mother leaves footprints along the Tampa beach,
a sister looking for answers after a bitter split.
They stop, turn around, feed seagulls, make believe;
build castles, play freeze tag until the winds quit.

Jack Skellington almost stole Christmas that year.
Despite his ghoulish plot, Minnie collected debris–
feathers, shells, rocks, and silent tears.
All these and more she took from the sea.

Bread crusts slip from young hands as the salt stings.
Just like birds, children love their wings.

SOURCE: Previously published in Encore magazine.

AUTHOR’S PHOTO CAPTION: My sister, Brenda, with her two kids Jacob and Chloe in Jamaica. Another vacation with Aunt Caroline, with cornrows.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I don’t usually write sonnets, so I labored on this one. My sister went through a traumatic divorce and this poem came to me when I vacationed with her and her two kids in Florida one year. It went through many revisions to get to this final form.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Caroline Johnson has two poetry chapbooks, Where the Street Ends and My Mother’s Artwork, and has published poetry in Lunch Ticket, Uproot, Chicago Tribune, Kind of a Hurricane Press, and others. A Pushcart Prize nominee, she won first place in the Chicago Tribune’s Printers Row 2012 Poetry Contest. She teaches community college English in the Chicago area.

the boss of you, poem by Erica Gerald Mason (MY IMAGINARY SKILL Poetry and Prose Series)

the boss of you
by Erica Gerald Mason

and at the end of a long day
not an awful day
but a busy day
the kind of day where we eat too much ice cream
and laugh too hard
and maybe play a little too hard
and it’s time to leave
but we’re too tired to walk
even one scrawny step
i scoop you up
and we sit on a statue of an animal
maybe a deer or a lion or maybe even a bear
and i say i’m the boss of you
and the statue turns into a real animal
and it lets us ride on its back
to the car
to our house
even all the way to the middle of the moon
if we ask nicely
and say please and thank you.

PHOTO: The author (left) and her sister at Holiday World theme park (Santa Claus, Indiana, 1981).

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:  I like to walk, but only up to a point. This is the superpower of my dreams.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Erica Gerald Mason has been called “the most practical dreamer you ever did see.” She is the author of a two books of poetry and the prose collections Meet Me In The Mixtape, and The Lovely, among other books. She also has edited five anthologies, including Wanton, One Tough Cookie, Star-Crossed Lovers, and Dinners, Parties & Shindigs. Her poetry has been published or forthcoming in The Found Poetry Review, The Borfski Press, and The NonBinary Review. Her poem,”Night Sky” was a featured work in 2016 Sundance Film Festival Indie Lounge. She blogs at ericageraldmason.com.

Sister poem #7: RED-HANDED…poem by Alexis Rhone Fancher (STARTING TO RIDE Poetry and Prose Series)

Sister poem #7:
RED-HANDED In Canoga Park: Root Causes & How It Is All My Fault
by Alexis Rhone Fancher

We were five, and three. I had just learned how to ride. You sat behind me on my blue bike, hung on tightly the four blocks to the drugstore. They had toys. Paddle Ball, Jacks, stuffed animals. I was entranced by the My Merry Kitchen set. Thumb-sized boxes of Ivory Snow, Kleenex, Ajax, and my favorite, a perfect replica bottle of Windex. The stuff of my dollhouse dreams. The restraint I had exhibited on previous visits failed me. I jabbed my finger through the cellophane, that tiny, blue bottle irresistible. You palmed the tiny Clorox, reached for the Brillo pads. “Hey!” the manager shouted, his bigness looming down the aisle. There was no place to hide.When I ran, you froze. When I got on my bike and sped off, you faced the music. This day has defined our sisterhood. I was five for Pete’s sake. Forgive me.

PHOTO: My Merry Supermarket set (Windex bottle in upper left), circa late 1950s-early 1960s.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Alexis Rhone Fancher’s poem, “when I turned fourteen, my mother’s sister took me to lunch and said:” was chosen by Edward Hirsch for inclusion in The Best American Poetry of 2016. She is the author of How I Lost My Virginity To Michael Cohen and other heart stab poems, (Sybaritic Press, 2014), and State of Grace: The Joshua Elegies, (KYSO Flash Press, 2015). She is published in Rattle, The MacGuffin, Slipstream, Wide Awake:Poets of Los Angeles, Hobart, and elsewhere. Since 2013 Alexis has been nominated for seven Pushcart Prizes and four Best of The Net awards. She is poetry editor of Cultural Weekly. Find her at alexisrhonefancher.com

May with Its Various Chinese Meanings, poem by Clara Hsu (May Poetry Series)

MAY WITH ITS VARIOUS CHINESE MEANINGS
by Clara Hsu

May 美 is beautiful.

May, your tail 尾 is showing beneath a corpse!

May, you are the last.

May-May, little 妹 sister.

May-May is delicious 美味.

May-May May-May

little sister 妹妹 not yet 未 beautiful 美.

May-May May-May

妹妹 little sister mmmm 美味 delicious.

Oh May-May

Oh May May May May

May May May May

May-May

you, beautiful 美

what a tail 尾

my last 尾

sister. 妹

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Clara Hsu practices the art of multi-dimensional being: mother, musician, purveyor of Clarion Music Center (1982-2005), traveler, translator, and poet. She has co-hosted the monthly San Francisco Open Mic Poetry Podcast TV Show since 2009 with John Rhodes. In 2013 she co-founded Poetry Hotel Press with Jack Foley. Clara has been published internationally. Her book of poetry, The First to Escape, is due to be released in the summer of 2014.

Rolls-Royce Dreams, poem by Ginger Andrews

ROLLS-ROYCE DREAMS
by Ginger Andrews

Using salal leaves for money,
my youngest sister and I
paid an older sister
to taxi an abandoned car
in our backyard. Our sister
knew how to shift gears,
turn smoothly with a hand signal,
and make perfect screeching stop sounds.

We drove to the beach,
to the market, to Sunday School,
past our would-be boyfriends’ houses,
to any town, anywhere.
We shopped for expensive clothes everywhere.
Our sister would open our doors
and say, Meter’s runnin’ ladies,
but take your time.

We rode all over in that ugly green Hudson
with its broken front windshield, springs poking
through its back seat, blackberry vines growing
through rusted floorboards;
with no wheels, no tires, taillights busted,
headlights missing, and gas gauge on empty.

“Rolls-Royce Dreams” appears in Ginger Andrews‘ collection An Honest Answer (Story Line Press, 1999), available at Amazon.com.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Ginger Andrews, born in North Bend, Oregon, in 1956, won the 1999 Nicholas Roerich Poetry Prize with her volume, An Honest Answer. She has lived most of her life in Oregon, where she cleans houses for a living with her sisters. She is also a janitor and Sunday School teacher at her church. Her poems have appeared in The Hudson Review, Poetry, River Sedge, The American Voice, and in several anthologies, including Good Poems edited by Garrison Keillor. Keillor has read poems from An Honest Answer more than ten times on The Writer’s Almanac.

Photo: “1935 Oldsmobile” by Rich K, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Rolls-Royce Dreams, poem by Ginger Andrews

ROLLS-ROYCE DREAMS
by Ginger Andrews

Using salal leaves for money,
my youngest sister and I
paid an older sister
to taxi an abandoned car
in our backyard. Our sister
knew how to shift gears,
turn smoothly with a hand signal,
and make perfect screeching stop sounds.

We drove to the beach,
to the market, to Sunday School,
past our would-be boyfriends’ houses,
to any town, anywhere.
We shopped for expensive clothes everywhere.
Our sister would open our doors
and say, Meter’s runnin’ ladies,
but take your time.

We rode all over in that ugly green Hudson
with its broken front windshield, springs poking
through its back seat, blackberry vines growing
through rusted floorboards;
with no wheels, no tires, taillights busted,
headlights missing, and gas gauge on empty.

“Rolls-Royce Dreams” appears in Ginger Andrews‘ collection An Honest Answer (Story Line Press, 1999), available at Amazon.com.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Ginger Andrews, born in North Bend, Oregon, in 1956, won the 1999 Nicholas Roerich Poetry Prize with her volume, An Honest Answer. She has lived most of her life in Oregon, where she cleans houses for a living with her sisters. She is also a janitor and Sunday School teacher at her church. Her poems have appeared in The Hudson Review, Poetry, River Sedge, The American Voice, and in several anthologies, including Good Poems edited by Garrison Keillor. Keillor has read poems from An Honest Answer more than ten times on The Writer’s Almanac.

Photo: “1935 Oldsmobile” by Rich K, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.