Issue #34.1 Aaron D. Wiegert, Ron Riekki, Billy Critchley-Menor
A Poem by Aaron D. Wiegert
________________________________________________________________________________________
Aaron D. Wiegert is a father and trail runner from Des Moines, Iowa. He penned the collection A Portrait of Energy, described by Chiron Review as 'a vital contribution to contemporary poetry.' Aaron is founder & editor of Churchdale Quarterly. His recent work can be found in DIALOGIST, JMWW, and Slipstream.
________________________________________________________________________________________
A Poem by Ron Riekki
I can’t stop writing poems
about the drill instructor strangling us in boot camp, when I’ve been kissed— my God, why focus on those killed when
there have been those lips that extended to the deeper tissues, life-threatening in terms of ‘threatening’ the normal boring
theater of life, the dullness, lips that made me believe in God, that destroyed outer layers of—what is the opposite of faith?—
that took away all pain, and not like third- degree burns where the nerve damage tricks, where you think you’ll never have pain ever
again, and, then, my God, when it returns, but, no, I keep going to my military days, my EMT days, my days in the prison, and,
no, not where I was incarcerated, except, yes, I guess I was, incarcerated by the torment of rent, how I’d take the jobs where I had
to sign waivers that I could die, and such a strange thing to sign—but it’s that drill instructor with his hands around my neck,
and, yet, also, you, when you did the same, except how gentle you were, how sensitive the throat is, how your fingernails insist, Eve,
Adam, this Biblical thrill at your touch, and, yes, too, boot camp was filled with the Bible, eyes on text in chapel where we were safe,
the pastor asking us to close our eyes to pray and how I’d sleep, micro-sleep, adored prayer for the reason of dissociating, hovering between
here and the netherworld, not realizing war was so close, just on the other side of my eyes, that only one of us would be killed in boot camp,
but ten by the end of the war, and here I go, forgetting you, forgetting your tenderness for deaths, as if those outrank your hasted, eager
clutching for me as if I held something good?
________________________________________________________________________________________
Ron Riekki has been awarded a 2015 The Best Small Fictions, 2016 Shenandoah Fiction Prize, 2016 IPPY Award, 2019 Red Rock Film Fest Award, 2019 Best of the Net finalist, 2019 Très Court International Film Festival Audience Award and Grand Prix, 2020 Dracula Film Festival Vladutz Trophy, 2020 Rhysling Anthology inclusion, and 2022 Pushcart Prize. Right now, Riekki's listening to "Spoon on Austin City Limits 'Inside Out.'"
________________________________________________________________________________________
A Poem by Billy Critchley-Menor
But Not Only Me
The launch of a heartbreak. The lunching of dictators. Poison of poverty perverting Power. Out going bathwater Through windows, onto streets Flooding garbage slime making Stench rise around us. Yes, There are lilac bushes and there are the dying Children’s bones cracking, Poking through stained skin, rubble Bubbling down. And there is the torrent Of unfulfilled longings Like everyday opening a jar of peanut butter that has already been scraped clean by not you. The feeling in the body, The want, inscribed from wounds You do not even remember, know You may never remember, know You are walking amnesia and accept That circling around your body are memories You will not touch. When you wake in the middle of the night Your heart puffing Black Dust through your chest and then You recall the worser, try Balancing your own black puffing heart With the bleeding wounds of a million so You clasp your hands or you unclasp them. When I greet God face to face–yes–I will have much to answer for. But not only me.
________________________________________________________________________________________
Billy Critchley-Menor, SJ is a graduate student of theology at Boston College. His writing has appeared in America, Commonweal, and Dappled Things. He is the author of the collection of poems, As It Is (One Subject Press, November 2026). You can find his regular writing on Substack at fromeveryside.substack.com. He is a member of the Jesuits and is originally from Duluth, MN.
________________________________________________________________________________________