Shevaun Brannigan
Committed

Shevaun Brannigan - Committed

Poetry
Shevaun Brannigan is a graduate of the Bennington Writing Seminars, as well as The Jiménez-Porter Writers’ House at The University… Read more »
Jeff Whitney
Meteors

Jeff Whitney - Meteors

Poetry
Jeff Whitney is the author of five chapbooks, two of which were co-written with Philip Schaefer. His poems can be… Read more »
Andrew Collard
Portrait With Elegy And Iodine

Andrew Collard - Portrait With Elegy And Iodine

Poetry
Andrew Collard lives in Kalamazoo, MI, where he attends grad school and teaches. His recent poems are forthcoming in Mid-American… Read more »
Audrey Gradzewicz
Song of Marshall Applewhite

Audrey Gradzewicz - Song of Marshall Applewhite

Poetry
Audrey Gradzewicz was born in Buffalo, New York. Her poems have been published by, or are forthcoming from, Southern Indiana… Read more »
Rebecca Bornstein
Summer Vacation

Rebecca Bornstein - Summer Vacation

Poetry
Rebecca Bornstein is a poet and worker currently living in Portland, Oregon. She’s held jobs as a production cook, professional… Read more »
Devon Miller-Duggan
Tales

Devon Miller-Duggan - Tales

Poetry
Devon Miller-Duggan has published poems in Rattle, Shenandoah, Margie, Christianity and Literature, and Gargoyle. She teaches Creative Writing at the… Read more »
Gail Martin
Their Shapes Determined By How Cold The Air

Gail Martin - Their Shapes Determined By How Cold The Air

Poetry
Gail Martin is the author of two books, Begin Empty-Handed (Perugia Press) and The Hourglass Heart (New Issues). A Michigan… Read more »

Summer Vacation

Rebecca Bornstein

Planes were something other people came to visit in,
the airport a place where you walked right up
to the gate and waited for that shiny sucker,

whose insides I could only imagine, to taxi
so that men on the tarmac could start chucking luggage.
We didn't have that kind of money.

My family took road trips, scraped together
meager tax returns and two weeks’ vacation
to go camping. Fifteen hours of highway, three kids

fighting in the backseat, old tent in a hard-top carrier
on the roof of whatever car we were hoping,
each year, wouldn’t break down.

What must it have meant for my parents
to have the scorched campstove pancakes, the view
of the mountains, the waterfalls, the Badlands, the bears?

They fought like hell to get us there: fixed flat tires,
bought our silence at every gas station with promises of soda,
patched the tent, built fires in the three-days’ rain,

roasted our marshmallows twice over when we asked.
We didn't appreciate it; wanted only to play mini-golf
or hang out with other kids in… Read more »