Northern Georgia AirBnB by Gaby Bedetti
Nighttime rain. Coffees on the porch.
Birthday champagne around the fire pit.
The Blue Ridge Mountains
attend to our long candlelit talks
of past, present and, especially
for our grown children, what’s to come.
Good-bye Nap-A-Way cottage.
So long little lizard and white bellied frog
until we drive this gravel road again–
this river-like road where the scenery changes like water.
Last Meal in Macon, Georgia by Carol Folsom
Say I murdered my cheating man
I’m pacing my Death Row cell
the night before Judgment Day
the warden asks what I want
for my last meal
I’d know right away
A platter of Fincher’s barbeque
from the old place on Houston Avenue
with the stuffed bass on the wall
and the pink ceramic pig on the shelf
that shredded pork they simmer all day
in sauce red as Uncle Johnny’s Irish setters
Aunt Boots‘ chocolate cake
with the pecans on top
at her white shingled house on Triple Hill Drive
she lights a Winston
sits by me at the red dinette
her orange permed hair
papery freckled face
she asks about my life
me a five year old
she bends her head to catch
my soft mumbly words
Grandpa by Carol Folsom
His face
carved by the Georgia sun
furrowed deep
as the rows he plowed
behind a tail swishing mule named Blue
cotton corn
melon beans
till the sun sagged
time to round up the cows
time to feed the hounds
that slept and scratched
in the shade of the barn
ears with ticks like fat gray pearls
His eyes
blue as November sky
trained to wait
for rain too rare
he the only one I’d trust
to pry a sandspur from
my throbbing dirty heel
with his pocketknife
I’d cry
but not that much
His pipe
puffed dreams by the fireplace
smoke rising
in the square circle
the jeering gray hatted crowd
he swings
the hook
the jab
the haymaker
the great Marciano
staggers
can’t shake the cobwebs
when the bell rings
the panting bloody
wonder of Wheeler County, Georgia
raises his glove
the new world champ
Easter Dinner
Paris, Texas Sheryl L. Nelms
Mama was out
in the backyard
wringing
chicken’s necks
for dinner
Aunt Loretta
was out there too
getting her strawberry
Jell-O salad out of her Ford Fairlane
she was wearing her lavender
taffeta church dress
when one of those
headless chickens started
running and flopping
and it got tangled up
under Loretta’s skirt
in her frilly petticoat
and she
let loose with a
shriek that the whole town
must’ve heard
and she was running
and flopping
with the red Jell-O splashing all over
just like that poor bloody chicken
that was
still
dancing
under
her
dress
About the Contributors
Born in Schaffhausen, Switzerland, Gaby Bedetti is a long time professor at Eastern Kentucky University. When she is not helping her students write, produce plays, or edit their literary and arts journal, she enjoys singing, hiking, and photography. She has published poems, reviews, and photographs in Off the Coast, Ground Fresh Thursday, GNU Journal, Poet Lore, Genre, and American Poetry, and essays and an interview in Diacritics, New Literary History and International Journal of Education and the Arts.
Carol Folsom grew up in Macon, Georgia. She was a lieutenant in the U.S. Navy for three years, then practiced law in Jacksonville, Florida. She writes poetry, essays and fiction. Her work has appeared in Everyday Fiction, Cradle Songs, Three Minus One, Flashlight Memories, The Whirlwind Review, Talking Writing and The Belle Reve Journal. She lives with her husband and son in Jacksonville.
Sheryl L. Nelms is from Marysville, Kansas. She graduated from South Dakota State University. She has had over 5,000 articles, stories and poems published, including fourteen individual collections of her poems. She is a four time Pushcart Prize nominee. She has recently been published in Abbey, Waterways, Feelings of the Heart, Bryant Literary Review, Jerry Jazz Musician, Baseball Bard and Plain Brown Wrapper. For longer credits listing see Sheryl L. Nelms at www.pw.org/directory/featured
On The Veranda 