Hey my Alaskan folks! Alaska Women Speak has just released their Spring 2016 issue: Adventures in Foreign Lands. I have four pieces in this issue. My three poems and nonfiction piece center on my stay in South Korea in 2002-2003. Locally the magazine is available at Barnes and Noble in Anchorage and Fireside Books in Palmer, as well as other stores throughout the state.
Check it out!
Poems: A Greeting at Imjingak, Chaos and Conformity, and Bibimbap.
Prose: A Forgotten War.
This poem was published in Cirque‘s Winter 2015 issue. It was written around 2001. It remained dormant until 2015, when I decided to revise it and submit it for publication. Despite some revision, little changed from old version to the final published version.
A side note: if you have never read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith, do yourself a favor and check out this coming-of-age classic!
Enjoy!
Joanna’s Child
But what makes you get a baby often
starts with a kiss…Remember Joanna.
–Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
At 14, I learned that I was Joanna’s baby.
The realization was somewhere
between sixth grade,
maxi pads
and sex education.
I was different—
not in the typical angst way,
for I stayed out of trouble,
in a small town
where no one divorced,
where everyone went to your church,
or some church,
where everyone wanted to know you,
or at least, your business—
I was an unwedded birth when good
girls did not keep their babies.
I’m your mother and father,
my mother would say,
and I believed her.
I told everyone I had no father,
until I became older and realized
the “oh” would be followed
by the awkward nod,
a shuffle of feet,
or rattle of ice in a drinking cup,
when I told them
my parents had not married,
nor had I had any contact
with him.
Eventually I caught on;
it was a signal—
we could no longer be friends.
Later, in my college years
the questions would be more demanding:
Do you know who he is?
Wouldn’t you like to know?
Aren’t you curious?
I would lie and say no.
Like all of the stones that were hurled at Joanna,
I knew my mother had her scars.
She would remind me often that
she was a good mother
(and to the best of her ability she was),
It was her attempt to negate those who thought otherwise
because she chose to break the rules.
So, what “lessons” did Joanna share
with her child?
I don’t fully know her pain
(or his name),
aside from the assurances of her mothering,
the glares and the asides.
She never shared her wounds,
and the wounds from the rocks that hit me
never healed either.
This nonfiction piece was published by Alaska Women Speak in its Winter 2015 issue. The theme was “talking over coffee (or tea).” This my first creative nonfiction piece to be published. Enjoy!
The Important Things
It’s been that kind of a day and now, at home, you are faced with a household tragedy: the tea supply has run dry. Not that fancy, loose tea that sits atop of the cupboard by the stove: the rooibos, the jasmine, the gunpowder green. The kind that requires the French press, a teaspoon to measure, four cups of water, and four minutes to brew. No, you are out of the ordinary Red Rose Tea, the one that comes in the bulk 100-count boxes. The ones that are not individually wrapped for freshness. Those are the ones you lack and need.
You leave your husband and the overtired one-year-old who refused to nap today to make the important journey. You travel to the only grocery store in your small town that has this tea. Forget about the decaffeinated version, you want the real thing, and buy two boxes. When you return home, his raised eyebrows, sigh and silent house tell you that he’s succeed in his mission and the child is asleep. You produce the tea, proving you were successful in yours, too.
The evening proceeds like many others do. You select the preferred cups: his, is the plain, white ceramic; yours, the clear glass Starbucks one. You are not fancy. This does not require much decorum. Just two cups of water, a microwave, and two minutes.
After a moment of silence, you turn on the TV. Forget about the Syrian refugee crisis and the falling Dow Jones, you discuss the important things of life over Futurama: like Katey Sagal’s career after Married…with Children ended and how much adults like Disney cartoons, too.
Your tea is the liquor that calms the nerves and re-energizes your soul. The last sip, overly sweet and growing cold after fifteen minutes, gives you the final jolt you need to pack the diaper bag, make the turkey sandwich lunch and check your calendar one more time, before winding down to a short sleep before the day begins again.
Back from being sick, I am pleased to announce that Three Line Poetry has picked up one of my brief poems. It is featured in issue 36 here. Enjoy!
OK, so this is late. It is barely Thursday Alaska time, but hey, it is still Thursday!
This one was published in Peeking Cat Poetry in October 2015 (8th issue). Yes, it is about my little girl. No, really I am not turning her into a Russophile, but really, would it be a bad thing if I did? Ha ha. Just like mama! 🙂
Da!
My ten month baby girl says “da”
like a good Russian comrade.
Her hands flap in the air, beat her chest
with the conviction of Lenin presenting
his April Theses in Petrograd in 1917.
I tell my husband “da” counts as a word,
as it means “yes” in Russian.
He shakes his head: in English
it is short for “dada” or “daddy.”
Yet, he knows his Russophile wife better:
You’ve been speaking Russian to her, he insists.
I’ve been too tired to speak to her in anything
other than English, I tell him.
But that is not true:
ne pravda.
I have read her tales of babushki and koshki—
Grandmothers and cats—
because it interests me.
Makes reading to a seemingly disinterested
audience easier, more productive.
Yet, I wonder, as she sits in my lap,
her corn silk hair thick like mine,
her lips open wide,
her hands clap patty-cake,
as I reach for the bottle.
Bringing it closer to her,
I pause before I can say khochesh and
use English instead:
want your bottle?
She smiles with her two front teeth,
“Da!”
Happy New Year, Everyone!
First of all, I want to thank you so much for being a part of my blog and supporting my work. I am humbled to have my blog supporters. Your support encourages me. It means a lot to me. Thank you so much!
I also want to extend a great big thanks to all the editors and journals that I have worked with over the past year (and into 2016, as well!). I have had 23 acceptances this year. 17 of which were published in 2015; 6 will be published in 2016.
If you have a moment, please check out these great editors and their journals.
Thank you so much for allowing me to be a part of your year. I hope to share more writing with everyone in 2016!
Creative Nonfiction:
“The Important Things” – Alaska Women Speak – Winter 2015 issue
Fiction:
How to Eat a Bagel – 50-word Stories – Sept 15, 2015
Poetry:
“Femininity” – Cirque – Summer 2015
“Sitting in the Bathroom” – Yellow Chair Review – July 2015
“A Happy Poem” – Eunoia Review – August 2015
“Willow Rebuilds” “Spectators” “Fire Angels” – Alaska Women Speak– Fall 2015
“Dark Clouds Descend Low” – Three Line Poetry – Issue 33 – Sept 2015
“Da!” – Peeking Cat Poetry – 8th issue – Oct 2015
“Three times my baby’s stroller passes by” – Eunoia Review – Oct 2015
“Babushka’s Samovar”, “If I May Speak”, and “High Tea and Fancy Things” – Alaska Women Speak – Winter 2015 Issue
“Joanna’s Child” – Cirque – Winter Solstice issue 2015.
“Away with the Bitterness!” – Peeking Cat Poetry – 9th Issue – Dec 2015
“Away with the Bitterness!” – Alaska Shorts (49 Writers blog) – December 22, 2015
“The Reflex”, “The Drop Off”, and “Crossed Eyes” – Eskimo Pie – Feb 2016
“The Fragments You Carry”, “The Fireweed Dies”, and “Crabapples” – 13 Chairs – Spring 2016
I’m pleased to announce that 3 of my poems have been accepted for publication in 13 Chairs‘ first issue, due out in Spring of 2016, published straight out of JBER. I am excited to be a part of this new journal. Accepted poems include The Fragments You Carry, Crabapples, and The Fireweed Dies.
More details to come as I receive them!
Jennifer
Last post of the day, seriously. When do I make all of these posts, lol.
This one was published by 50-Word Stories back in September. Enjoy!
And, Happy Holidays, everyone!
How to Eat a Bagel
Eat like this, mama demands, nibbling the bagel like a caged gerbil with a toilet paper roll.
The boy giggles, taking his like a harmonica, raises it like a singer reaches for that final high note. Cream cheese squirts out for the audience’s enjoyment.
She rubs her expectant belly. “Kids.”
Hey Everyone!
Cirque‘s winter solstice issue is up! My poem “Joanna’s Child” is on page 63. Check it out! Issues are available via subscription, as well as Barnes & Noble here in Anchorage, as well as other stores. Take a look!
This one was published in Alaska Women Speak‘s 2015 Fall Issue: Fireweed theme.
Fire Angels
Girl with corn silk curls twirls
in the meringue sundress into
a field of fireweed.
Her hands slap the magenta petals
like a propeller, spinning the fluffy
cotton until she collapses,
but does not stop,
making fire angels in the weeds.
J.L. Smith 