RICH - RUSSELL POETRY FELLOWSHIP WINNERS
Congratulations to Caitlin Scarano Caitlin Scarano is a poet based in northwest Washington. She holds a PhD in English (creative writing) from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee and an MFA in Poetry from the University of Alaska Fairbanks. She was selected as a participant in the National Science Foundation’s Antarctic Artists & Writers Program and spent November 2018 in McMurdo Station in Antarctica. Her debut collection of poems, Do Not Bring Him Water, was released in Fall 2017. Her work has appeared in Granta, Best New Poets, Best Small Fictions, Carve, and Colorado Review. You can find her at caitlinscarano.com Silo the year I spent eating eyelashes suckling a hangover hippocampus slamming on & off like a stagelight I couldn’t stop watching that trashbag caught in a tree pray for a break in the blight how many people won’t speak to you now there was a silo I knew that burnt down and what remained was a cement ring this is autopsy membrane fixation in all my territory I find so little tender by Caitlin Scarano |
Congratulations to Crystal Ignatowski
Crystal Ignatowski is an Oregon writer whose poetry has been featured in Roanoke Review, Honey & Lime, Bullets Into Bells, and more. She received her undergraduate degree in creative writing from University of Puget Sound and was awarded the Barry Bauska Award in 2013. Currently, Crystal reads poetry submissions for FlyPaper Magazine. In her professional life, she is a social work case manager for the oldest child welfare agency in Oregon. You can follow her on Twitter: @crysignatowski My mother was born in Seoul, South Korea but I never knew her then. Scrawny arms and porcelain skin. Hair like a bird’s nest, but it wasn’t a home yet, she wasn’t a home yet. It is Mother’s Day. We are kayaking. The sun is hot against our flesh. Hers is tanning, mine is just turning red. I ask her if she considers herself biracial. The question hangs heavy above our heads. She answers, but I hear something different: the story of her green fabric slippers, her cloth doll friend, how her mother signed her adoption papers in red lipstick, how she signed away her Kim. My mother was born in Seoul, South Korea, but I never knew her then. The tips of our kayaks glide through the water like needles with no thread. We are moving but we leave no trace. by Crystal Ignatowski previously published in the anthology, Honey & Lime |