Four Poems
Adages and Advice My Mother Tried to Tell Me
Everyone looks good in red. Do what
you want; you will anyway. Always pass
along a compliment. Don’t skimp on
the butter. Be careful with men. It doesn’t
hurt to be nice. There’s no better place
than Minnesota. You’d look so cute
with a little curl around your face. Never forget
I used to be thin just like you.
Minor Spectacle
When my brother died the
funeral became a carnival.
Of which my life flew into
my next birthday. I was seven.
Moonshine/Honeymoon: The Ozarks
In the back of the blue station wagon: all your wedding presents ripped open and naked and drooling like giant jumbled children in the back seat. The Minnesota relatives waved goodbye in denim dresses under the big maple tree as your little foreign engine took off for bootleg detours down dimly-lit roads.
Why I Don't Miss My Father But I Do
because an addict belongs to everyone
else. They’re so fun. So funny! Because he had to
buy Rick and Leo and Howie a round or two
or three after their baseball games, right? His white
pants grass-stained like a toddler. Long hair sprouting
wild beneath the ballcap. Because
his warm little wallet, drop by drop, bled the
bank out. Because he wore cowboy boots with mesh
athletic shorts. Because he leaned heavy on the hair
spray. Could bench 150. Because he was a southpaw
cornerman. A sly dog on the lookout for strays. An
All-Star-Almost. Because
I wish I could’ve lived inside his soft leather
glove. He’d have taken care of me in there, no doubt.
Bought me thousands of M&Ms and Three Musketeers
at El & Esther’s Bar. So sweet. I’d cradle them in my
tiny hands. Rock them back and forth like a baby. But
chocolate melts. Messy. Because babies outgrow their
bassinets. Because
I grew up to be just like him. Feather boas. Levi’s.
Wine by the box. Because “Last Call!” can be the most
dangerous sound on earth. Because when he died I wasn’t
there. Because when I visit I leave a Bud Light on his grave.
Which isn’t very often. Because there’s no time. No dog to
throw the ball to anymore. No last haunted happy hour to
crack it open.
Anne Panning
Anne Panning has published a memoir, Dragonfly Notes: On Distance and Loss, as well a novel, Butter, and two short story collections: The Price of Eggs and Super America, which won The Flannery O’Connor Award and was a New York Times Editor's Choice. Her short publications include Brevity (6x), Bellingham Review, Prairie Schooner, River Styx, New Letters, The Florida Review, Passages North, Black Warrior Review, The Greensboro Review, Alaska Quarterly Review, Quarterly West, The Kenyon Review, Hippocampus, and River Teeth. She is currently working on Bootleg Barber: A Daughter’s Memoir, about her late father—a barber and addict. She’s also just completed her first poetry collection, Spit & Glitter. Originally from Minnesota, she teaches creative writing at SUNY-Brockport in New York.
Alex Griffin
Alex Griffin lives and works in East Falls, Philadelphia. Griffin’s work has appeared in solo and group exhibitions throughout the United States. From 2017 until 2019, he was associated with The Professional Artist Membership Program at the Mainline Art Center. Today, Griffin’s paintings are included in private collections across the country and abroad. Griffin received his B.F.A. from Virginia Commonwealth University in Painting and Printmaking in 2008.