COUNTERCLAIM REVIEW
Issue 1: New Beginnings
2021
published by counterclaim (c-c)
photograph: “Spring” by Fabrice Poussin
January 5th
by Charlotte Cutter
A body absorbs the light that strikes it - I remember this
morning driving past a signboard its shadow
branding a message in the snow:
Mon coeur est un terroir vide
January simmers deep blue at its core
white when the colors combine
white this message I’m not sure I believe
in this empty park past the playground
Last night you took the lighter and told me
you once set the playground ablaze
because hunger and matchsticks raised you
in their curriculum of ruin you remember
nothing about the burning, just the fear
of no endings to grasp beneath the smoke
your grandmother’s laundry smoldering
your uncle’s pasta water seething over the remnants
I like to believe you can put out a flame with your fingers
I only believe in this want and in nothing
that comes afterward my god
what did our ancestors leave us anyway:
the steam escaping from your coffee,
breath that turns to smoke when it’s lonely,
a mug you held high at your graduation ceremony
to acknowledge help from no human
and this morning I would seep in this
long after the sun gets tired I only want to believe in this
open field, to be blanketed
in this freshly fallen year
still burning in the blue of your palms.
—
Charlotte Cutter enjoys trying to accomplish futile goals like running a 5K without stopping. Aside from getting excited when a book she ordered comes in the mail, she is passionate about discovering new places when traveling is possible. She speaks French pretty well thanks to a year teaching French schoolchildren the difference between duck and dog, and she probably doesn’t know what TV show you’re talking about but can identify the French actor in the Chanel commercial. She has been published in The Wild Word and Paperbark.
Last Snows
by Fabrice Poussin
Kilimanjaro melted my heart one more time
listening to the hyenas’ call at midnight
I followed the stars to the line in the desert
wondering if the old wound would heal at last.
And I lost the keys to those noble blue oceans
watching the dying typewriter fall into decay
alligators smiled feeling the full safety
of the faithful double barrel once a best friend.
I contemplated the great lake near a first home
icy for an ultimate visit when all memories gone
a mirror spoke the harshest words I ever heard
it was time to move on, go away, for good.
Often I thought of a last wish, like a cigarette
but mine was for the fruit of Idaho
when nothing was any longer, all ended
the double-barrel again a precious ally.
I saw the eyes of the king in the high brush
sharp with the passion for a life I perhaps never had;
he stared knowing his future far too well
I too now see down the rifle; at last I know.
Peace
by Fabrice Poussin
She appears at rest in pleasant dreams
contemplating the blues deep above
a palm softly gauging every breath.
Seasons have passed since she first lay
within the promising meadow of a destiny
lush in green tones or resurrected lives.
Gaiety floats all around the realm
hushing away any attempt of a final gasp
slightly heaving the beloved breast.
So calm in the desperate moments
one may imagine her tenderly smiling
as the air heavy as lead crushes her memories.
A timid tear can still muster a little courage
and run down the silky envelope of her soul
paling under the last lights of a dying dusk.
—
Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. An author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review, and other publications.
A flight of fancy
by Edith Johnson
Imagine that I step outside into cool air
shut our front door behind me, click
over cobbles that glisten, turn right onto Karl Marx Strasse going faster
Run down the street
tarmac and glass against bare feet chase the star falling down an inky sky into the lap of land behind the TV tower.
Imagine I couldn’t catch the star
but found it dying in a yellow skip
nesting in a broken bath with somebody’s abandoned kebab hardening into a lump of rock threaded with gold
like fool’s gold or lapis lazuli, a semi-precious stone precious to me.
After flying home on a carpet smelling of piss
(also found in the skip)
imagine I wake you up and show you the star I found. You hate it when I wake you in the night
but you drowsily tuck it in a drawer somewhere for safekeeping among the broken usb cables, my vibrator, and your M&Ms.
—
Edith Johnson runs Be Her Lead, a social enterprise that trains teachers to run feminist programs in schools. For fun, she writes with a London-based writing collective.
Cleanliness
by Gale Acuff
I don’t want to die but after I do
I might regret having been alive for
however long it was,
might wish that I’d died sooner or even
that I’d never been born but anyway
I don’t know what the Hell I’m doing here
and that’s exactly what I said to my
Sunday School teacher after class today
but she told me not to say Hell and to
go home (where I was heading anyway)
and wash my mouth out with soap but to ask
Mother first what that means lest I really
try to (Mother and Father sleep in on
weekends so I represent us three at
church maybe like Jesus the Trinity
and I’m only ten years old, how bad am I?)
and Goodbye, young man and you can bet that
I’ll pray for you but at our church betting
is a sin and I reminded her
Ask me do I give a damn.
—
Gale Acuff has been published in Ascent, Chiron Review, Pennsylvania Literary Journal, Poem, Adirondack Review, Maryland Poetry Review, Florida Review, Slant, Nebo, Arkansas Review, South Dakota Review, and many other journals. He has authored three books of poetry, all from BrickHouse Press: Buffalo Nickel, The Weight of the World, and The Story of My Lives.
Blank
by Kristen Lem
Your mind is as blank,
bleached, dull, and negative as
the space on this page.
—
Kristen Lem is a writer and web designer living in Los Angeles and New York. Before she learned to count numbers, she learned to count syllables, which earned her 1st place in a 6th grade haiku writing contest and a published book of poetry Haiku To Fall In Love To, illustrated by artist Molly Ha. She is the creator of Bi-coastal Babble and co-founder of VoeWE Creative Agency. As a freelance writer and web designer, Kristen has worked with Dictionary.com, ACLU, California Pizza Kitchen, American Apparel, Industry Rules, and more. Her printed work includes collaborations with Grunge N Art, We Can Hear You: From First Class to Third World, and Beyond Depression. She has been a guest on Talk Thirty To Me and featured online for Project Girl Crush, Modern Chic Mag, Bustle, and Thought Catalog.
Tears
by Cris Eli Blak
Little Black boys refuse to cry. They’ve been taught that being hard means holding it in and
having heart means taking every one of life’s kicks and punches without complaint. There’s a
reason our skin blends in with darkness.
They’re taught that a sissy is someone who gives ownership to emotion and a punk is someone
who admits to being abused or who abuses themselves.
When the sun rises, every scar and broken dream will be visible.
You will be seen, but do not fear. The sunlight will reveal even the beauty of your soul, the
beauty of your skin. You are the star that wise men will follow into beautiful darkness.
—
Cris Eli Blak is a Pushcart Prize-nominated writer for the page, stage, and screen. He is the recipient of the Christopher Hewitt Award in Fiction by A&U Magazine and has had his fiction published by the Story Inkorporated podcast. He has also had an essay published in the I Taught The Law journal. A two-time poetry slam champion, his work has been published by the International Human Rights Arts Festival, Prime Number Magazine, and SLAMKingsX. He is also a Bronze Remi Award winning screenwriter and an award-winning playwright whose work has been seen around the world.
painting: “Frequency Girl” by Grace Sharpe Winrow
Grace Winrow Sharpe has been expressing herself as a fine artist for over 35 years and running her decorative painting business, Grace Your Space, for over 25. For her clients, she custom paints a variety of surfaces, creates unique wall and furniture finishes, murals, and commissioned work on canvas. When making art for the sake of art she shifts from representational, primarily working from life, to abstract images that are born in her imagination and a reactive state of painting. She has a BA from Moravian College and was classically trained at Barnstone Studios.
2021
counterclaim is committed to producing work that counters normative and traditional forms