Spring 2015
Poetry
The Harbor of the World
- O. Arieti
Those Italian Boys
- I. Backalenick
Friendless Featherheads
- G. Beck
Spailpin
- K. Cain
Fashioning
- J. Campbell
King Street Comanche
- B. Foster
Santi
- L. Giulianetti
Poets Out of Service
- M. Johnson
Irish Farmer
- L. Kumar
Communion Portrait
- J. Lagier
Away
- M. Lisella
Connemara 2004
- C. Lloyd
Carrying Grandpa
- M. Lyon
The Saying of Mass
- C. Moore
Taking You home
- J. Mulligan
Departures
- P. Murray
Yiaprakophela
- P. Nicholas
Resurrecting Easter Sunday
- L. Pierro
Dublin Spirts
- F. Polizzi
Nun Ponnu/They Cannot
- N. Provenzano
Kate
- K. Retzlaff
Refuse
- C. Steinhoff
Strawberry Pickers, Cyprus
- J. Tarwood
Melina's Tarverna
- B. Thomas
No News
- R. Tremmel
Signs
- 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
Prose
Augurina
- 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
BIOGRAPHIES
Contributors
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Santi Papá paid il maestro. At seven, I traded pen for hoe, took to Iacobi’s fields. Iacobi commanded us like dogs: “Porta nu panaru di Malvasia. Lascialla da,”* pointing to the bottom stair. Quickly, I learned to ground my gaze. Everyone knew he killed both sons. Eldest felled by a shot to the skull, an afternoon in montagnia. Iacobi couldn’t abide a son in step with i fasciste. Tre giorni di lutto,* a phalanx, bowed and black, filed to the estate. Iacobi’s face a stone well. Il Guidice appeared, and I waited for the ground swell, the toppled glass. Nothing. Respects paid, rhythm restored. Dark to dark taming vines, snapping bud and cane – anything above the stake. My hands and faith calloused. “Virgine Maria Santa,” the veiled women incant over Iacobi’s youngest. I necrologi* belie the truth: la scarpona di* Iacobi cracked bone, the boy’s pleas scattered into shivering quiet. Open doors and windows shepherd souls’ departure. The living remain; our eyes peeled by the dead. *Li morti aprinu l’occhi dei vivi. (Sicilian proverb): The dead open the eyes of the living. *“Porta nu panaru di Malvasia. Lascialla da,” (Sicilian): “Bring a basket of Malvasia. Leave it there.” *Tre giorni di lutto, (Italian): three days of mourning *I necrologi (Italian): obituary *la scarpona (Sicilian): boot |