Poetry

FALL 2026
 

The Foothills

by MERRIDAWN DUCKLER

I drove over the skull of the world.
People were farming up there!
I saw a tractor traverse a green brow,
then I went to the mouth.
Hot winding fetid, motley,
trying to lick wind,
to be heard lilting.
We were in the belly of the valley
the soil scooped us in and over.
Foliage had hips, a node, here and there.
I saw the forsythia, yellow as a rain crow.
A pleasant crevasse split,
from which my head emerged in
foothills.
And we were so earthbound
I had no idea how it would end.

 
 

White-plumed Honeyeaters by Michaela Farrington

 
 

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Merridawn Duckler

Merridawn Duckler is a writer and visual artist from Oregon and the author of INTERSTATE (dancing girl press) IDIOM (Harbor Review) MISSPENT YOUTH (rinky dink press) and the flash fiction collection ARRANGEMENT (Southernmost Books.) She’s the winner of the Beulah Rose poetry prize from Smartish Pace, the Elizabeth Sloane Tyler Memorial Award Woven Tale Press, judged by Ann Beattie, the CNF prize from Invisible City judged by Heather Cristle and the Drama prize from Arts and Letters at Georgia College. Work in Best Small Fictions 2025. She’s a member of Blackfish Gallery. Instagram | X