Issue #32.10 Cody Adams, John Dorsey, Sam Rasnake
A Poem by Cody Adams
Before My Grandpa Died This Morning
he shot a fat buck in his backwoods,
left a trail of pink snow toward
the barn. He bound its hooves and hoisted
them up on a hook so the antlers scribbled
softly on the dirt floor. I glimpsed my reflection
in Grandpa’s hunting knife as it slid silently
from groin, through gut, to throat. With bright
red hands, he emptied its innards until
they were a glossy pile steaming on the
frozen Earth. He smeared war paint beneath
each eye like an ancient linebacker, then rubbed
the rest above the barn door. He turned
to me before he left and said,
“Be good.”
________________________________________________________________________________________
Originally from Buffalo, NY, Cody Adams currently teaches literature in Toronto, ON. His recent work has appeared in Solum Literary Press, Heart of Flesh, Defenestration, Ekstasis Magazine, Cacti Fur, Appalachia Bare, among others. He received his B.A. degree from St. John Fisher University and his M.S. degree from the University of Rochester. He also serves as a Board Member for Forefront Festival.
________________________________________________________________________________________
Two Poems by John Dorsey
Obituary Song
for s.a. griffin
we talk on the phone about all of the old friends who’ve passed since the last time we talked & those who simply disappeared in a cloud smoke & gunfire
those on walkers & the soon to be ghosts getting stoned just to get by in this country of open caskets & closeted dreams
neither of us have ever slept well both of us up with the sun just waiting for old angel midnight to flip the switch.
Imagine
the city vanishing before noon a bus station in toledo now lost to mythology at the family dinner table the dead light overflowing with morning air a new war closer to home.
________________________________________________________________________________________
John Dorsey is the former Poet Laureate of Belle, MO. He is the author of several collections of poetry, including Which Way to the River: Selected Poems: 2016-2020 (OAC Books, 2020), Sundown at the Redneck Carnival, (Spartan Press, 2022, Pocatello Wildflower, (Crisis Chronicles Press, 2023) and Dead Photographs, (Stubborn Mule Press, 2024). He may be reached at archerevans@yahoo.com.
________________________________________________________________________________________
A Poem by Sam Rasnake
Poet at Home, Shares Reflection
after Barnali Ray Shukla
What we see in the night is never what is but is real enough to hold us before the glass while the city sleeps. A dull wind is moving
beyond the window, threading into the dark. We can see flutterings of shadows and tremors of lights along the blurred edges of view.
None of this prepares us for a life with no moon. The stars are free but lost to the sweep of low, thick clouds and the rains that must follow.
The river, palm, and lotus wait for the may-awe of the peacock’s throat, for the beautiful chaos, for lush hillsides, for a life no longer on pause.
________________________________________________________________________________________
Sam Rasnake’s works, nominated multiple times for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies including Best Small Fictions, Best of the Web, Southern Poetry Anthology, A Cluster of Lights, Bending Genres Anthology, and MiPOesias Companion. He was chapbook editor for Sow’s Ear Press (1992-2022), was a member of the inaugural 2023 Kari Ann Flickinger Memorial Literary Prize Adjudication Panel with Ballerini Book Press, has served as a judge for the Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Poetry Prize, University of California, Berkeley, and was an editor of Blue Fifth Review (2001-2018). He’s the author of three chapbooks and four poetry collections—most recently, Fallen Leaves (Ballerini Book Press, 2025).
________________________________________________________________________________________