Geraldine Connolly
I Want to Bring Back
My organdy Easter dress and straw hat
with a navy ribbon, tight green blossoms
in April, gravestones among apple trees,
the Virgin’s long blue robe, the startled ringing
of the altar bell like breaking icicles, that moment
when bread changes into the body of God.
Bring back crocuses and Easter chicks, reborn Jesus,
dogwoods and sycamores, who wore their blazing hats
of ivory. Eggs and lilies, the first moment
the orchard above the farmhouse blossomed
pink above the muddy creek, a ring
near furrowed fields, of apple trees.
Pheasants with wings like helicopter blades, trees
that bloomed, lifting their faces toward God,
the whole of the newly ploughed garden bringing
thoughts of hope. We tied on our hats
and to the ribbons fastened dry blossoms
with certainty, and that quiet instant
before we prayed became the moment
we wandered, lost among the trees,
muddied our stockings, crushed blossoms
beneath our shoes, cried out to the old God
to save us from falling. I remember that
once we were innocent, once we wore our ring
of belief like a badge, a feeling of being wrung
clean as we prayed, as if we could begin again.
I call to innocence, to girls in Communion hats
about to ascend the steep rows of church steps
to kneel, to bow and greet their god
as rows of widows and penitents like dark blossoms
light candles in the apse, their flame blossoms
illuminating the faithful, gathered and singing
songs of praise, hymns to the one God,
our faith restored, all of this in the moment
before mystery approached, belief failed, before trees
of new knowledge grew up into the heat
and fervor of the world. Tight green blossoms,
gravestones in the shade of apple trees, I call and
call to them, although there is no answer.
Massive Palace
Past the bronze bells, the odeum of forms
Past the oil lamps, past chariots and cavalry
Past small anterooms, their sets of ruins
Past brass heads and cast-iron chivalry
Sits the row of vanguards, hall of the kings.
Past broken bottles and porcelain tiles
The idea of a new palace rings.
A scene of rare birds, exotic animals:
A palace to the notion of love, a memorial.
And to stand near it, near the graves of history,
A monument to compassion. A dearth of guns.
Down with walls, down with the emperor.
Acrobats and workers on their swings, fly.
Citizens assemble. The palace has begun.
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| AUTHOR BIO |
| Geraldine Connolly is a native of western Pennsylvania and the author of four full-length collections, mostly recently, Aileron (Terrapin Books, 2018). She is the recipient of two N.E.A. creative writing fellowships in poetry, a Maryland Arts Council fellowship, and the W.B. Yeats Society of New York Poetry Prize. She was the Margaret Bridgman Fellow at the Bread Loaf Writers Conference and has had residencies at Yaddo, the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts and The Chautauqua Institute. Her work has appeared in Poetry, The Georgia Review, Cortland Review and Shenandoah. It has been featured on The Writers Almanac and anthologized in Poetry 180: A Poem a Day for American High School Students, Sweeping Beauty: Poems About Housework and The Sonoran Desert:A Literary Field Guide. She lives in Tucson, Arizona. Her website is www.geraldineconnolly.com
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| POETRY CONTRIBUTORS |
 Ansie Baird
Melissa Balmain
Kathryn Boswell
Maya Chhabra
Geraldine Connolly
Linda Conroy
Lisa DeSiro
Peggy Landsman
Susan McLean
Diane Lee Moomey
Samantha Pious
M. B. Powell
Carol Lynn Stevenson Grellas
Alexandra Umlas
Cheryl Whitehead
Marly Youmans (Featured Poet)
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| Rounded in deep compassion for the human experience across borders, Mizrachi explores both the spiritual and physical dimensions of being human, and in particular, female. Often times, the female figure in various mythical iterations intersects with earthbound feminine forms as a means to communicate and transmit social consciousness. Mizrachi’s intentions include the empowerment of self and others through artistic expression, as well as advocacy for women, youth, and the environment. Family, community, and tribe are also recurring themes and are approached as active spaces of shared engagement.
In recent years, Mizrachi’s studio practice has developed into a testing ground for explorations in assemblage, sculpture, and installation that has transformed both her painting practice and decades of work as a muralist. Moving beyond paint, her small scale pieces have become sculptural drawings and her murals have become outdoor wall installations. Both styles of work have taken on new life as three dimensional geometric forms.
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