So glad to see that Every Writer continues to include 2River in its most recent 2017 list of 20 Best Online Literary Magazines.
2River is a big fan of Sally Van Doren, so it was special to see her poem “Defiance” today at Writer’s Almanac.
What makes her poem at Writer’s Almanac more special is that it first appeared here in The 2River View.
And most special is that the following video with Van Doren reading the poem appeared here way back on Muddy Bank.
Awaiting snow, the earth is almost colorless.
Then a brief gleam from the pale fields: a silo
or tool. The highway pretends it will never end
so I follow its wide grey pledge. Windmills rest
motionless or turn slowly. Resisting what? Air
this morning is thin and thought-like. Ice covers
the edges of a pond, but not its center. The brain,
likewise, begins to narrow at speed, searches only,
the road, for its next anticipated creek or hillside.
A Witness tries to explain suffering to me—or something
about a God who loves, who therefore punishes. Injustice
and pain must exist; otherwise, what would be the point
of comfort? There’s a glossy leaflet to take, but I let the dog
pull me away and lie about my name because no language
seems adequate in spring. The sun is more light than warmth,
dangerous the way joy is: like sorrow uncontained. Every bud
threatens a bloom; branches wait for the wind to freeze again.
Ceridwen Hall is pursuing a PhD in creative writing at the University of Utah and reads poetry for Quarterly West. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Grist, Hotel Amerika, The Moth, Rattle, Tar River Poetry, and elsewhere.
Here in St. Louis, the temp is shooting up to nearly 100 degrees today, yet we have faith that autumn and a new issue of 2RV will fall this Friday with the certainty of a leaf! While you wait, enjoy this new poem from the upcoming issue.
This—is how far away from my father
I feel tonight.
I am still thirteen.
I am thirteen years away from him.
He is thirteen years younger.
There—we haven’t aged a moment.
We are in between my brain and desire—
between expanding universes.
We are luminous.
Like the meridian.
Not shadows on a wall.
Not shadows looking for peace.