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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Carrying Grandpa 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. |