CURRENT ISSUE (#50)
Spring/Summer 2012

HAYDEN'S FERRY REVIEW

SPRING/SUMMER 1999 ISSUE 24

Fiction

Nancy Matson
Circus of the Sun [14]

Joan Connor
The Corner of Dreams [29]

Michelle Brooks
You Either Have It or You Don't [83]

Myriam J. A. Chancy
The Scorpion's Claw

Poetry

Ralph Sneeden
The Eyes of the Scallops [8]

Roland Flint
Hydrafoil [9]

Jeffrey Levine
Picasso's Pantaloons [10]

Carl Philips
Black Box [12]

Beckian Fritz Goldberg
How He Became Conservator of the Meadow [22]
Lightning Wolf [23]

Nick Carbo
Ang Tunay Na Lakai is Addicted to New York [24]

Judy Galbraith
The Looming Flock [25]

Judith Infante
Maiden Aunt Sings [34]

Demetria Martinez
Blessing Poem [52]
Interlude [53]
Rules of Engagement [54]

Elizabeth Murawski
Epistle [55]

Leslee Rene Wright
Independence Stampede, Colorado [56]

Patricia Bagato
Explaining the Lunar Eclipse [57]

Denise Duhamel & Maureen Seaton
Lord of the Flies
Lord of the Flies 2 [58]

Karen Subach
Aubade [59]

David Wojahn
Alchemy, Mother Ship, Mile One One Seven [60]

Carol Frost
No Elegy [62]

Dreya Johannsen
Wire [72]

Elizabeth McNeil
Wade out, Shake My Daughter's Ashes [73]

Joanne Pender
La Glace Renversee [74]

Bruce Snider
Making Room [75]

Bruce Weigl
For the Man With the Snare Of the Devil in his Heart [76]
Meditation at Las Cruces After A Day with a Friend Who Sometimes Thinks She is Fire [77]

Melissa Huseman
Night Swimming [78]

Felix Jung
Skirmish at the Terebinski Funeral Home--Dayton, Ohio [79]

Eric P. Elshtain
Charm [80]

Dannyka Taylor
The Giving and the Taking [81]

Art

Jim Lee
Trouble Light [26]
Trouble Light, detail [27]
Trouble Light, detail [28]

Diane Fine & Mario Laplante
Two Luso Lyrics [82]

Lane Hall
Witch of Dark Places, detail [88]
Witch of Dark Places, detail [89]

Diane Fine and Tracy Honn
Rubies & Pomegranates, detail [90]
Rubies & Pomegranates, detail [91]

Interview

Argie J. Manolis
The Writer as Witness: An Interview with Demetria Martinez [37]

AWP Intro Journal Award Winners

Gale Corey Toensing
Personal Belongings [92]

Allison Dubinsky
Chlorine [93]

Stephen Kirbach
Psalm for the Inarticulate [94]

Eric Lundgren
Anna [96]

Rebecca Stapay
Here, Where We Have Been [104]

Contributors [117]

Hayden's Ferry Review Issue 24 Cover

Issue 24 Staff

Managing Editor
Salima Keegan

Poetry Editors
Susan Allspaw
Rick Liljegren

Fiction Editors
Deborah Ackerman
Papatya Bucak

Art Editor
Emily Muschinske

Editorial Advisor
Melissa Pritchard

Copy Editors
Maura Mackowski
Kevin Vaughan-Brubaker

Associate Editors
Heather Marie Hoyt
Mary Kenagy
Robert Krut
Steven Landes
Julie Parker
Rashid Robinson
Maidi Terry

Editorial Assistants
David Bryan
Stacey MacDonald
Michael Murphy
Lisa Petty
Jennifer Understahl
Maureen White

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Poetry Selection – Demetria Martinez, Blessing Poem
for Benjamin Theodore

They say it comes from our Indian side:
The blue birth spot near the base
Of the spine that with time, fades.
Little glow worm, doctors bathed you
In ultra-violet rays to rid you of jaundice,
Your parents played Mozart in the truck
To hot-wire your cerebral cortex.
When you coo I dream of you transposing
English to Spanish to Tewa and back again,
Praying in so many tongues some
God would have to hear if not
Answer: Sweet fruit pit, live
Inside the mystery while you can.
The world is garbed in a bullet-proof vest.
Your eyes are obsidian arrowheads
Aimed at no one.

^ Back to contributors

Fiction Selection – From Myriam J. A. Chancy's The Scorpion's Claw

Lafolle gathers wildflowers in her fist as if they are clumps of shorn hair. Weed-like, their thin roots squeeze through the openings between fingers, prematurely gnarled and scarred from the healed-over cuts she has suffered in the cutting of cane. Her hair, hidden beneath a red kerchief, is a tangled web of clumps, matted against her dry scalp. She gathers the wildflowers in heavied, trembling hands and tears stream from half-shut eyes.

Those who, from the side of the road, stand and watch her hummingbird flight from one tiger lily to the other, struggling to stand above the parched earth, will say later that her eyes had been clear as glass, that she had foamed at the mouth and nostril, that she had eaten the petals in her hands in a frenzy before she began to gather the remaining pieces of the dismembered body of her leader into her patchwork apron.

Those who, unlike her, knew how to wield the cutlass through Jacques I's bone and flesh, who knew how to snap fingers with one sharp blow of rust-colored steel to remove the gold and stone-studded rings of the Emperor, watch her behind hooded eyes. Her feet guide her away, in rhythmic steps, from the hands trembling around the worn handles of foot-long machetes, the blades leaving sweeps of red against blue-black veined muscled calves.