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Spring 2015


The Harbor of the World
- O. Arieti
Those Italian Boys
- I. Backalenick
Friendless Featherheads
- G. Beck
- K. Cain
- J. Campbell
King Street Comanche
- B. Foster
- L. Giulianetti
Poets Out of Service
- M. Johnson
Irish Farmer
- L. Kumar
Communion Portrait
- J. Lagier
- M. Lisella
Connemara 2004
- C. Lloyd
Carrying Grandpa
- M. Lyon
The Saying of Mass
- C. Moore
Taking You home
- J. Mulligan
- P. Murray
- P. Nicholas
Resurrecting Easter Sunday
- L. Pierro
Dublin Spirts
- F. Polizzi
Nun Ponnu/They Cannot
- N. Provenzano
- K. Retzlaff
- C. Steinhoff
Strawberry Pickers, Cyprus
- J. Tarwood
Melina's Tarverna
- B. Thomas
No News
- R. Tremmel
- R. Volz
Broadway Bagel
- C. Wald
Taking My 8-Year-Old Daughter to Hear Seamus Heaney
- L. Wiley
My Mother Had a Relationship with Good Bread
- C. Young
Sicilian Traces
- A. Znaidi

Spring 2015


- J. Amato
Moving Day, 1897
- D. Corrigan
My Madeleine
- F. Dunne
A Review Of Italoamericana: The Literature Of The Great Migration, 1880–1943
- G. Fagiani
The Immigrant's Grandson
- J. Giordano
Review of The Glass Ships
- R. Crupi Holz
A Sunday Afternoon
- R. Iulo
Dark Idyll
- T. Sanfilip
The Choir Book
- G. Sullivan
Review of My Two Italies
- T. Zeppetella

Featured Artist
Richard Holz



Marianne Lyon

Carrying Grandpa

Somewhere deep in my belly
I remember standing in my grandparents’ kitchen
sunlight erased the room free of shadows
I watch my grandfather play his wooden flute
an etched pipe he carried in his rucksack
on a ship to Ellis Island*

his fingers are marching soldiers
ruddy cheeks move like the billows of dad’s accordion
melodies swim out
slow tunes drift like a lazy duck on a pond
then race into
ruckus phrases
eyebrows arch

I weave into the sound
follow the wild pied-piper
no matter where we march
the light follows us around
tables, stools, ironing board

a new tune breathes out
from the wooden nostrils
something beckons me
to stand in its breath.
I just settled there
flushed cheeks
bathed clean in the familiar

the stream of him flowed into me that afternoon
his flute nourished
refrains spinning a ball of yarn that knitted my life
like waves spreading onto the shore
seeping into sand
we became one another
when I look deep enough into grandpa
I find myself

*My grandfather, Stjepan Antonic was born in Bribir,
a village in northern Croatia, and sailed from Liverpool
on the ship, Cedric, in 1906.