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Apple Valley Review:
A Journal of Contemporary
Literature
ISSN 1931-3888
Volume 14, Number 2
(Fall 2019)
Copyright © 2019
by Leah Browning, Editor.
All future rights to material
published in the Apple
Valley Review are retained
by the individual authors
and artists.
www.applevalleyreview.com
A Journal of Contemporary
Literature
ISSN 1931-3888
Volume 14, Number 2
(Fall 2019)
Copyright © 2019
by Leah Browning, Editor.
All future rights to material
published in the Apple
Valley Review are retained
by the individual authors
and artists.
www.applevalleyreview.com
 |  |  |  |  |
ELEGY FOR MY FRIEND
MARY, A FOUND POEM
MARY, A FOUND POEM
NOBODY KNEW MY
MOTHER WAS A DRUNK
MOTHER WAS A DRUNK
by Lisa Zimmerman
Jeannie Kiernan was my best friend in 4th grade. Her big sister had
a horse, a dark bay gelding who could fold his front legs and leap
over painted rail fences, her sister balanced in the saddle, all poise
and focus, capable hands holding the reins lightly, lightly. Jeannie
had more Breyer model horses than I had—mares and grazing
foals, elegant rearing stallions, dapples, chestnuts, prancing white-
blazed ponies, a whole herd sweeping across the red carpet in her
bedroom. We were allowed to eat snacks on her bed, Oreos
which my mother never bought, and potato chips, caramel corn, the
pound bag of M&Ms, salted peanuts in their shells. We could open
the fridge without permission and pour Coke into tall glasses clinking
with ice. We rode our bikes like fast horses up and down the ragged
hill behind her house, each of us whinnying and snorting to each
other. Dinner at Jeannie’s house was served before dark by her tall
graceful mother who circled the table like a musical note and we
didn’t have to sit and finish the food we didn’t like. We didn’t
even have to put it on our plates.
Jeannie Kiernan was my best friend in 4th grade. Her big sister had
a horse, a dark bay gelding who could fold his front legs and leap
over painted rail fences, her sister balanced in the saddle, all poise
and focus, capable hands holding the reins lightly, lightly. Jeannie
had more Breyer model horses than I had—mares and grazing
foals, elegant rearing stallions, dapples, chestnuts, prancing white-
blazed ponies, a whole herd sweeping across the red carpet in her
bedroom. We were allowed to eat snacks on her bed, Oreos
which my mother never bought, and potato chips, caramel corn, the
pound bag of M&Ms, salted peanuts in their shells. We could open
the fridge without permission and pour Coke into tall glasses clinking
with ice. We rode our bikes like fast horses up and down the ragged
hill behind her house, each of us whinnying and snorting to each
other. Dinner at Jeannie’s house was served before dark by her tall
graceful mother who circled the table like a musical note and we
didn’t have to sit and finish the food we didn’t like. We didn’t
even have to put it on our plates.
by Lisa Zimmerman
When you are powerless,
stranded—
from the great God—
weight of the body, close.
When you are powerless.
Whenever winds are—
where the whaleboats
where the bones
where dread—
breaking violently and night.
Moon graveyard.
When you are powerless.
There in the nowhere, where
wings beat against the stones
at the sea’s throat—
oh, to pluck life back.
_____________________________________________________
Lisa Zimmerman’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming
in Cave Wall, Natural Bridge, Amethyst Review, Chiron
Review, and other magazines. Her debut poetry collection
won the Violet Reed Haas Poetry Award. Zimmerman’s
recent collections are The Light at the Edge of Everything,
which was published by Anhinga Press, and The Hours I
Keep, published by Main Street Rag. She is a professor of
English and Creative Writing at the University of Northern
Colorado.
◄ Previous page Apple Valley Review, Fall 2019 Next page ►
When you are powerless,
stranded—
from the great God—
weight of the body, close.
When you are powerless.
Whenever winds are—
where the whaleboats
where the bones
where dread—
breaking violently and night.
Moon graveyard.
When you are powerless.
There in the nowhere, where
wings beat against the stones
at the sea’s throat—
oh, to pluck life back.
_____________________________________________________
Lisa Zimmerman’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming
in Cave Wall, Natural Bridge, Amethyst Review, Chiron
Review, and other magazines. Her debut poetry collection
won the Violet Reed Haas Poetry Award. Zimmerman’s
recent collections are The Light at the Edge of Everything,
which was published by Anhinga Press, and The Hours I
Keep, published by Main Street Rag. She is a professor of
English and Creative Writing at the University of Northern
Colorado.
◄ Previous page Apple Valley Review, Fall 2019 Next page ►