Mary Makofske, the first-place winner, will receive 50 letterpress-printed broadsides of her winning poem. The three honorable mentions, Walker Brents III, Fran Carbonaro, and Diana Woodcock, will receive earlier Littoral Press broadsides. All four winning poems are posted below. Many thanks to all who submitted work this year.

* * * * *

OCTOBER, 2020

what name can summon

our ghostly future

give it flesh

remember the park and children rising on swings

remember the slides    the squeals of fear    or fear

that’s just pretend    the park now closed

only wind pushing swings    stirring crumpled leaves

season of ghouls and goblins    zombies and witches

who wants to be terrified this hallowed eve

who wants to see blood spurt and eyes pop

from the head    what kiss laced with fangs

do you court for your throat

what do you seek to take your breath away

closing down    closing in

shelter    haven    refuge    sanctuary

lair    retreat    asylum

touch withering like the stricken plants

in a dream wheeled on a gurney

through a brick-lined tunnel

speeding    where

remember when we thought we could read

the future    when maps led us

over familiar terrain    when our GPS

told us where to turn

where we should go to avoid the cliff

what is this ghost    shadow    dream

hovering just beyond our usual landmarks

— Mary Makofske

* * *

MOBILITY OF CALCIUM

rest in the meaning of the words

they are cups into which the water of life is poured

even splendid stern things decay

fire blossoms for a while and soon is ash

zero is a perfect circle

nothing is what we are added onto

nothing is what we are subtracted from

the rest is up the meaning of the words

and the hieroglyphic of your footprint

as you journey over the world’s roads

worn away by life you become life

rain falls on rock for awhile

rock dissolves and then only rain

all I’ve got in my bony old hands

are my empty palms

but they are cupped toward you

my offering? the road I walked to get here

the seeing of the feeling of it

the memory of it as it disappears

the sound of our voices as we watch it go

—Walker Brents III

* * *

BUTTERFLY BANDAGE

With the fecundity of rabbits they come

words like trails of ants in search of sugar

syllabic pheromones attracting their kin

like bees fiercely flapping wings over honey

faithful hive mates laboring as one

these words seek me out! they, super

glue for a heart cleaved by grief

the translation for ventricles lacking

shared language, a clotting agent

to stem the bleeding, medicine

swirling through

a scattered mind

bending the arc

to murmuration

primal flight

a common song

Can you save us: stanza, spell

sonnet, ode, lift us like prayer

gift us the keen eyes of a hawk

break greed’s curse, so kinship

may include all sentient beings

I bow to the poem’s might to

turn the tide, as a compass to guide

put the brakes on a runaway train

stent the closed vein. A butterfly

bandage, holding what can still hold

together, healing us from the inside out

—Fran Carbonaro

* * *

JUST LONG ENOUGH

Just one brief instant here. ~ Nezahualcoyotl

And yet just long enough to let

it out—to break the silence

now and then with ecstatic,

emphatic fragments that catch

the power of the biosphere.

Just one brief instant here

to realize the feats and failures

of humanity, to soften

the loss and suffering with

poetry, music and prayer.

Just one brief instant here

to unleash the fierce emotions,

pierce reality’s core and be more

than we think we can be—the most—

any(every)thing but a mere ghost.*

Just one brief instant here to wake

with intense desire to become all fire

before the fallen blossoms are swept

away, everything’s gone gray,

and there’s nothing left to say.

—Diana Woodcock

*a reference to Stephen Berg’s translation (imitation) of Ernest Stadler’s last line in his poem“The Saying”

(from his book, The Steel Cricket, 1997)