chairs by philip kobylarz

Stock Photo for Kobylarz


chairs are publicly accepted skeletons, this being more evident when they are paint-peeling white. At best they are architecturally concealed plates for the ass and genitals. Like horses, we dispose of them if they have even one fractured leg. They are the unsung heroes of any meeting or gathering. Skyscrapers as compared to toilet seats. Secretly, they are wombs made of plastic, metal, wood.


About the Author: Philip Kobylarz is a teacher and writer of fiction, poetry, book reviews, and essays. He has worked as a journalist and film critic for newspapers in Memphis, TN. His work appears in such publications as Paris Review, Poetry, and The Best American Poetry series. The author of a book of poems concerning life in the south of France, he has a collection of short fiction and a book-length essay forthcoming.

Habit by Danna Ephland

fashion-man-person-winter


Halfway through the evening he reaches across his chest for the soft hem of his shirt sleeve, rolls it up over smooth bicep, pulls it past rising deltoid just short of the clavicle. His beautiful habit. Needle comes to her senses, falls out of her head into her own muscle and reach. Her hands fold as she charts the path of hardwood on its way to the opposite wall, imagines cool glass beneath magazines against her forehead, counts how many lamps are in the room, which are lit. Needle draws a deliberate breath, exhales. He pulls again, long hair off the back of his neck. Needle wants to trace his chin line, an ear, add commas to passing thoughts, tiny caves, brown curls around her busy fingers. She takes a number, her own sleeve, fingers its ribs asking: whose reach is it anyway? whose eye? blood and breath rush through bellows and fist-sized pumps in the small room where a dog, roused from sleep, wanders to where Needle sits cross-legged on the carpet, open like the unabridged. He puts his chin in her hand, disappears. Needle locates perfect words in the details of a man, this room, her own soft palm, its hot skin, like alphabet soup or an eight ball with all its answers bobbing.


About the Author:Danna Ephland was born in Buffalo NY, danced in Toronto, taught and danced in Berkeley, fell madly in love with poetry in Chicago, and lives now in Kalamazoo, where she teaches writing workshops called The Left Margin. Ephland’s poems have appeared in Rhino, Indiana Review, Folio, and the anthologies Saints of Hysteria, and Villanelles.

 

Et cetera. by MK Chavez

Tisah Kårstad_Untitled_for MK Chavez


mk


 

About the Author: MK Chavez is the author of Virgin Eyes (Zeitgeist Press) Visitation, Next Exit #9 and Pinnacle (Kendra Steiner Editions). Recent and upcoming work can be found in Eleven Eleven and Sparkle & Blink and Rivet. She has been a fellow at Squaw Valley Writers Conference, Antioch Writers Workshop and VONA. She is co-founder and co-curator of the Berkeley based monthly reading series Lyrics & Dirges and co-directs the yearly Berkeley Poetry Festival. She is also an organizer with Association of Brown & Black Writers (ABBW).

Artwork: Tisah Kårstad

 

Fuck You by Riss Rosado

run the j


Fuck the lower back pain I got
Bending over backwards for you.

Fuck your Oedipal complex
Your mom is out of her fucking mind.

Fuck whatever she did
I’m not her.

Fuck every night you were too stressed out about work
To get it up.

Fuck you for not leaving work at work
And thinking about it during sex.

Fuck you for making pillow talk about work
Too.

Fuck you for saying you felt like you were about to cheat on me
Go ahead. Fuck you.

Fuck you for saying I’d look great
If I worked out more.

Fuck you for saying you knew you
Couldn’t trust a bi girl.

Fuck you for moving to Oakland
After I moved to Oakland
And never answering me.

Fuck every piece I ever wrote Because of or in spite of you
Including this. Fuck this poem.

Fuck every time I let you flake with no notice
Playing it super cool to your cold shoulder

Fuck every orgasm I let you give me
Don’t flatter yourself: i’ve been making myself come since I was 10.

Fuck you for barring me from a public space
For the first time in my life.

Fuck you for lifting the ban
Then reinstating it with no explanation.

Fuck you for making me be the bigger person
Every time you disrespected me.

Fuck you for making me feel
Twice my age.

Fuck you for letting me down
Then worming your way back into my good graces
And letting me down

Fuck you for fucking me over
And over and over and over again

Fuck your radio silence
It’s 2015 send a goddamn text every once in awhile.

Fuck the breadcrumbs you left
Leading me back to you

Fuck you for leaving 9 months of graphic messages to her on your phone
And not having the balls to break up with me

Fuck you for not knowing yourself enough
To love yourself enough
To even remotely love me

Fuck you.


About the Author: Riss is bad with names but she still wants to know yours. She has been described as “absurd”, a “rainbow-infused space unicorn”, and “a hot piece with brains to match”. She writes poetry, prose, short stories, and hand-written letters and has been a feature at You’re Going to Die, Berkeley Poetry Express, Lyrics & Dirges, and the Crow Show. She lives in Oakland with her partner, a three-legged dog, and a snake named Kisses.

Artwork: Alexandra Herrington

Just Black by Jan Steckel

PE - just black (final)


 

 

Just Black

Machine-gun-fire rain
on the zinc roof.
I wheezed like a calliope.
The cats’
eyes guttered
with the kerosene lamp.
They stalked me,
tails twitching.
Always want to sit
in the allergic person’s lap.
The succubus story:
a cat perched
on a man’s
chest, sucking his breath.
My abs burned.
The river was high.
I couldn’t get to the hospital.
I saw black spots,
then just black.

Police surrounded the big man.
He denied selling cigarettes.
What would an asthmatic
do with cigarettes?
It stops NOW, he cried,
waving his arms.
The officers moved in,
hands twitching.
One came up behind him.
Don’t touch me!
Please, don’t…
He fell like a sequoia, rolled
over a Lilliputian in blue.
Cops sat like cats on his
four-hundred-pound back.
A forearm pressed his throat.
He saw black spots.


About the Author:  Jan Steckel’s poetry book The Horizontal Poet (Zeitgeist Press, 2011) won a 2012 Lambda Literary Award. Her fiction chapbook Mixing Tracks (Gertrude Press, 2009) and her poetry chapbook The Underwater Hospital (Zeitgeist Press, 2006) also won awards. Her creative writing has appeared in Scholastic Magazine, Yale Medicine, Bellevue Literary Review, Red Rock Review, The Pedestal Magazine, and elsewhere. Her work has won various contests (most recently the Goodreads Newsletter Poetry Contest) and has been nominated three times for a Pushcart Prize. She lives in East Oakland.

Artwork: Paul Ebenkamp is author of The Louder the Room the Darker the Screen (Timeless, Infinite Light, 2015), “Four Colors for the Based God” (The Equalizer: Second Series, 2014), “Seizured in the Ease” (Mondo Bummer, 2013), and everything at afterundisclosedrecipients.blogspot.com, and is editor of a few books including Modernist Women Poets: An Anthology (Counterpoint, 2014) and Particulars of Place by Richard O. Moore (Omnidawn, 2015). With Andrew Kenower he curates the Woolsey Heights reading series in Berkeley, and with strings and devices makes music as Position.

Beach Town and August, Adolescence by Leland Seese

PE - adolescence (draft)

 


 

 

Beach Town and August, Adolescence

Flotsam from a vessel sunk a half a century ago
Sunburned afternoons surveilled by the owner of the general store

Subtle as raccoons around a trash can as we sticky-fingered
Ads in black and white at the back of hot rod magazines

To glimpse the montes veneris of the models peddling
Shocks and mufflers in their bathing suits

The locals’ lives marooned there through the winters
The older brother’s t-shirt stars and bars and sleeves with cigarettes

He’d slingshot rocks at beachcombers, kick children’s
Pails full of bullheads back into the bay

And tossed me in along with them the day after the sister always
Lurking like the seagulls near the fish and chips stand on the pier

Hiked her dress behind the pilings to let me see
That nothing

But a stale breeze probed the clefts and sea moss as my pals
Above us wondered where we were


About the Author: Leland Seese began writing poetry after living for 50 years and wrestling with cancer. He is a social activist, pastor, and foster/adoptive/biological dad of six great children. He and his wife, Lisa Konick, live in Seattle. His poems have appeared in The East Bay Review, Pyrokinection, The Christian Century, and other journals.

Artwork: Paul Ebenkamp is author of The Louder the Room the Darker the Screen (Timeless, Infinite Light, 2015), “Four Colors for the Based God” (The Equalizer: Second Series, 2014), “Seizured in the Ease” (Mondo Bummer, 2013), and everything at afterundisclosedrecipients.blogspot.com, and is editor of a few books including Modernist Women Poets: An Anthology (Counterpoint, 2014) and Particulars of Place by Richard O. Moore (Omnidawn, 2015). With Andrew Kenower he curates the Woolsey Heights reading series, and with strings and devices makes music as Position.

Disintegration by Richard Pacheco

PE - disintegration (final)


Disintegration 

Along the shore the seagulls break formation,
dive like kamikazes
scrape the water’s tip
furrow wave tops
then loop skyward sun-masked
dimly conspicuous as ·ghosts.


 

About the Author: Richard Pacheco is an award-winning playwright, poet, artist, journalist, filmmaker and educator. He was a finalist in the grant competition in playwrighting for the Massachusetts Artists Foundation (1976) and recipient of an ARTA (American Regional Theatre Award) best new play award in 1986. He is a member of the Dramatist Guild, Playwright’s Platform. His plays have received staged readings and performances at Culture Park and other venues. He won the best actor Award from the New England Russian Plays festival performed at Boston Playwrights Theatre. He has acted in over 30 plays and in film and television as well. He is a member of SAG-AFTRA and member of the local (New England Board). He holds a BFA in painting and an MFA in art education/printmaking from U. Mass. Dartmouth. He lives in New Bedford, His poetry book, Geography, was nominated for a 2015 Pulitzer Prize in poetry.

Artwork: Paul Ebenkamp is author of The Louder the Room the Darker the Screen (Timeless, Infinite Light, 2015), “Four Colors for the Based God” (The Equalizer: Second Series, 2014), “Seizured in the Ease” (Mondo Bummer, 2013), and everything at afterundisclosedrecipients.blogspot.com, and is editor of a few books including Modernist Women Poets: An Anthology (Counterpoint, 2014) and Particulars of Place by Richard O. Moore (Omnidawn, 2015). With Andrew Kenower he curates the Woolsey Heights reading series, and with strings and devices makes music as Position.

Condolence Call by Sandra Kohler

PE - condolence call backside (final2)


Condolence Call

H___T___’s cock
paid me a condolence call
when I was sitting shiva
for my father years ago,
called home from college
by his death to the apartment
I’d never seen before –
his, my stepmother’s –
they’d sold our house that fall
when I left, were waiting for
a new one to be ready, living
in temporary quarters.
My father’s last on earth –
temporary indeed.

It was January.
H___T___, high school pal,
not my boyfriend, was home
on semester break. After sitting
stiffly in my stepmother’s
living room, we went out
to walk in the frigid night
in some park I can’t name
or place now, the neighborhood
one I didn’t know, have never
gone back to, sat down
on a park bench.

Did his comforting me,
that brotherly arm around
my shoulders, slide
accidently into what
followed or had he
planned it? He took

my hand and slid it
into his opened fly
– my god how cold
that hand must have
been ­– I felt something
whorled, roped,
a corkscrew not
the round smooth
knob I expected,
something
writhing,
alive.

Was this an attempt
at comfort?
For me? Or himself?
As if this was
what mattered:
here – here!
something alive.


About the Author: Sandra Kohler had three collections of poems published: Improbable Music, Word Press, 2011, The Ceremonies of Longing, U. of Pittsburgh Press, 2003, and The Country of Women, Calyx Books, l995. Her poems have appeared over the past 35 years in a wide range of journals, including The New Republic, Beloit Poetry Journal and Prairie Schooner.

Artwork: Paul Ebenkamp is author of The Louder the Room the Darker the Screen (Timeless, Infinite Light, 2015), “Four Colors for the Based God” (The Equalizer: Second Series, 2014), “Seizured in the Ease” (Mondo Bummer, 2013), and everything at afterundisclosedrecipients.blogspot.com, and is editor of a few books including Modernist Women Poets: An Anthology (Counterpoint, 2014) and Particulars of Place by Richard O. Moore (Omnidawn, 2015). With Andrew Kenower he curates the Woolsey Heights reading series, and with strings and devices makes music as Position.

A Perfect Line by Yume Kim

PE - a perfect line (final)


A Perfect Line

When the mother was young,
she grew up in Busan, South Korea.
One day, she was happily chatting with her friends.
Suddenly, her teacher slapped her face.
“Learn to write better,” he scolded her before walking away.

Many years later, in Baltimore, Maryland
the doctor informs the mother that her three year-old daughter
will be a slow learner. Because her child had curvy handwriting.
Instead of perfect, straight lines. Afterward, the mother takes her daughter home.
She leads her daughter to her desk.
And instructs her to write out the letter ‘A’ in a perfect, straight line.
Yet, the child’s tiny hands can only produce ‘A’s’ in squiggly lines.
“Write better!” her mother screams, smacking her daughter’s hands.
She then is able to write her letter in a perfect line.
However, the A’s left side is longer than the other.
This infuriates her mother.
She screams and slaps her child’s chubby cheeks.
Her daughter then cries. Her mother begins to cry too.


About the Author: Yume Kim is a recent MFA graduate from SFSU’s Creative Writing program. Some of her works can be found in sPARKLE + bLINK, gesture, West Wind Review, and Sugared Water. She currently lives in San Francisco, where she attempts to somehow utilize teaching as her source of income.

Artwork: Paul Ebenkamp is author of The Louder the Room the Darker the Screen (Timeless, Infinite Light, 2015), “Four Colors for the Based God” (The Equalizer: Second Series, 2014), “Seizured in the Ease” (Mondo Bummer, 2013), and everything at afterundisclosedrecipients.blogspot.com, and is editor of a few books including Modernist Women Poets: An Anthology (Counterpoint, 2014) and Particulars of Place by Richard O. Moore (Omnidawn, 2015). With Andrew Kenower he curates the Woolsey Heights reading series, and with strings and devices makes music as Position.

 

Here Are Instructions for Removing the Scissors by Kelli Allen

PE - instructions for removing the scissors


 

Here Are Instructions for Removing the Scissors

Take the bribe offered and just plunge your entire
arm, full past the twist of elbow, into the cool muck.

Take this moment as opening of determined appetite—
the blades are yours once pulled into the grass. Yours.

Take whatever weird laughter you hear behind your shoulder
as balm, a resolve for how far you can open, can exhale, and search.

Take slippery weeds, darkening further down, lightening as they snake
up your wrist into the fading day, as a message—everything feeds, waits.

Take dense mud around your fingers and pull tightly the looped handle
as you dislodge the entirety of silver from this reeking, shallow pond.

Take every opportunity to own and wield the weapons for cutting, as every-
thing begs, at some sharp moment, to be severed, to be made sweetly clean.


About the Author: Kelli Allen’s work has appeared in numerous journals and anthologies in the US and internationally. She is a four-time Pushcart Prize nominee and has won awards for her poetry, prose, and scholarly work. She served as Managing Editor of Natural Bridge, is the current Poetry Editor for The Lindenwood Review, and holds an MFA from the University of Missouri St. Louis. She is the director of the River Styx Hungry Young Poets Series and founded the Graduate Writers Reading Series for UMSL. She is currently a Professor of Humanities and Creative Writing at Lindenwood University and teaches for The Pierre Laclede Honors College at UMSL. Her full-length poetry collection, Otherwise, Soft White Ash, arrived from John Gosslee Books in 2012 and was nominated for the Pulitzer Prize.www.kelli-allen.com

Artwork: Paul Ebenkamp is author of The Louder the Room the Darker the Screen (Timeless, Infinite Light, 2015), “Four Colors for the Based God” (The Equalizer: Second Series, 2014), “Seizured in the Ease” (Mondo Bummer, 2013), and everything at afterundisclosedrecipients.blogspot.com, and is editor of a few books including Modernist Women Poets: An Anthology (Counterpoint, 2014) and Particulars of Place by Richard O. Moore (Omnidawn, 2015). With Andrew Kenower he curates the Woolsey Heights reading series, and with strings and devices makes music as Position.

 

SO WE SAT DOWN AND SAID by Steffi Drewes

Allen Forrest for Steffi Drewes


SO WE SAT DOWN AND SAID

Rise and shine Guanajuato, Sebastian’s got five tongues
to your one, odds and ends the acrolinguist flings into

his breakfast banter. Not just the number of bricks it takes
to build a church or trips to Peru before he stopped eating papaya,

tell me how to launch a comeback that steals his morning thunder
—this is high stakes choreography with a mathematical accent.

Here I am climbing a cabeza de piedra to feel closer to history
and here my funnybone exposed under a cactus, underlining all

the parts about silver tunnels and mountains, rebel monuments
that fade and flash. So raise a fist to greet the day block out the sun

and sweep your rival, all muscle and gold sky. Sold two flicks of flint
to unroll a funicular steep on a hillside—feel the weight of

your limbs, the change in elevation, every arched window
an eye unfolding. Half-notes shimmy from a kitchen floating O’s

what a bunch of white rabbits down a hole, what a mouth making its own
magic show or bronze hero come to life. Did you miss the punchline?

Pause for selfies? Wake up, Quixote! We can see you counting tiles,
chasing tides. If you can say it better, go ahead and write my lifeline

in all caps or A minor, in any case think of the chords that can’t be spoken
running an instrument through your veins. Here you are with a piccolo bird

in your head or deep in the jungle coughing up leaf scum. Bit by breath
pushing tongue against teeth what licks the air and starts to howl.


About the Author: Steffi Drewes is author of the chapbooks Magnetic ForestCartography Askew, and History of Drawing Circles. Her work has also appeared in 6×6Zen MonsterEleven Eleven, and the anthology It’s Night in San Francisco But It’s Sunny in Oakland. She organizes Featherboard Writing Series and manages the Writer in Residence program at Aggregate Space Gallery in West Oakland.

Artwork: Graphic artist and painter Allen Forrest was born in Canada and bred in the U.S. He has created cover art and illustrations for literary publications and books. He is the winner of the Leslie Jacoby Honor for Art at San Jose State University’s Reed Magazine and his Bel Red painting series is part of the Bellevue College Foundation’s permanent art collection. Forrest’s expressive drawing and painting style is a mix of avant-garde expressionism and post-Impressionist elements reminiscent of van Gogh, creating emotion on canvas.

Art website (paintings for sale):
Twitter account:
Portfolio: published works

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Irreversible by Peycho Kanev

Lynae Cook_Sparrow_for Kanev

 


 

Irreversible

The body of the dead bird
soon enough
becomes dirt
where the worms live
which soon enough
become food for
the newly hatched birds.

I picked a flower and smelled it –

Spring, death and
             swallows’ wings.


About the Author:Peycho Kanev is the author of 4 poetry collections and two chapbooks, published in USA and Bulgaria. He has won several European awards for his poetry, and he’s nominated for the Pushcart Award and Best of the Net. His poems have appeared in many literary magazines, such as: Poetry Quarterly, Evergreen Review, Hawaii Review, Cordite Poetry Review, Sheepshead Review, Off the Coast, The Adirondack Review, Two Thirds North, Sierra Nevada Review, The Cleveland Review and many others.

Artwork: Lynae Cook

 

 

Time And Its Relatives by Peggy Aylsworth

Vinayak Harshvardhan_for Aylsworth


 

 TIME AND ITS RELATIVES

I hobble in the ruins of myself,
grateful as a bronco out to pasture.
Layers of dust find ways to hide
the glisten underneath.  Red, as in coral

thanks the longest waves of light.
I didn’t die at 24 as I once thought.
At 93 my wits remind – the bell

still tolls for me, even as my ears

have given in to half-closed doors.
This or that makes choice less

wobbly now – The sand keeps
temporary prints the sea will swallow.

Hosanna to the wheelchair and the cane.
Daylight wouldn’t be the same without them.


About the Author: Peggy Aylsworth’s poetry has appeared in numerous literary journals throughout the U.S. and abroad, including Beloit Poetry Journal, The MacGuffin,Poetry Salzberg Review, Yuan Yang (Hong Kong), White Rabbit (Chile). Her work was nominated for the 2012 Pushcart Prize.

Artwork: Vinayak Harshvardhan 

 

Revel by Ana Maria Caballero

Carlos Luis Sánchez Becerra_Retrato de Chusmita_for Caballero


 

For Dr. S. Rueda

On the night Chavez died
I needed to feel drunk
So I called my son’s pediatrician
Told him I wanted to be happy
He said I should be happy
I didn’t mention the wine
Maybe he figured and it wasn’t the first time
So I mixed white formula with water
Then drank enough to sway
With the people on TV
Even a teat gets tired of being just a teat


About the Author: Ana Caballero received Colombia’s 2014 José Manuel Arango National Poetry Prize for her book Entre domingo y domingo (“From Sunday to Sunday”). Her work has appeared in Smoking Glue Gun Magazine, Pea River Review, Red Savina Review, Big River Poetry Review, CutBank, among others, and is forthcoming in Jai-Alai and The Potomac. Every week, she writes about poetry for Zeteo Journal’s “Zeteo is Reading” section. Her poetry and book thoughts can be read at www.thedrugstorenotebook.co.

Artwork: Carlos Luis Sánchez

 

AUBADE by Simon Anton Nino Diego Baena

Maëlle Valantin_for Baena


Aubade

Breaths are slower, and nobody climbs mountains
just to hear a song. Creaking doors are ubiquitous,
as well as stains in the statues of saints in churches,
birds shit and grave faces. How do you welcome
epiphanies? Please tell me. An open window
is not enough for a mouth full of ruins. Of course,
the light inhabits each space but the world remains
anemic. I am not sure if I read the signs properly.
The end is not yet near. The herons are still flying
out of the mangrove forests. People are curious
about God. It is obvious. Heaven is unaware of
its own deficiencies when it deals with sinners.
Every plague is a phenomenon as the silence
I prefer after the rain. Aside from doing nothing,
I begin my day by rubbing these bloodshot eyes
of mine before I stare at the hues reflected
in the surface of a cracked mirror, then roam
the entire city and come home with its embers.
I remember the dead. Sometimes I feel their
presence in the crow of roosters. Mornings are
gloomy. I assure you, nobody walks on water.


About the Author: Simon Anton Nino Diego Baena currently lives in the Philippines. He spends most of his time on the road with his wife. Some of his works have already been published in The James Franco ReviewOff the CoastAfter the PauseEastlit, Mascara Literary ReviewThe Blue Hour MagazinePhilippines Free PressRed River Review, the forthcoming issue of The Bitter Oleander, The East Bay Review, and The Fox Chase Review.

Artwork: Maëlle Valantin

After Visiting Jack London’s Grave on the Day of his Death by Iris Jamahl Dunkle

 

 

 

 

 

 

For Dunkle by Brad Milhouse



Microsoft Word - Iris Dunkle_After Visiting Jack London’s Grav


About the Author: Iris Jamahl Dunkle’s debut poetry collection, Gold Passage, won the Trio Award and was published by Trio House Press in 2013. Her chapbooks Inheritance and The Flying Trolley were published by Finishing Line Press. Her poetry, essays and creative nonfiction have been published in Fence, Volt, The New Guard, Lake Effect, Sugar Mule, Calyx and many more. Dunkle teaches writing and literature at Napa Valley College. She received her BA from George Washington University, her MFA in Poetry from New York University, and her PhD in American Literature from Case Western Reserve University. She is on the staff of the Napa Valley Writers conference.

Ballpoint Pens as a Point of Reference by Mercedes Lawry

For Lawry


Ballpoint Pens as a Point of Reference

Let’s talk ballpoint pens, and do they reproduce and how can one be found at a moment of critical need and do they resemble paper clips in some utilitarian matrix and what is their relationship to nostalgia? Ah, gibberish, the high notes, the low notes, such and much as might be animated, that is, drawn from life. Write it down, interpret, define, signify, elucidate, okay, time’s up. In a linear fashion, the sweet muck of ink is akin to blood. In a circular fashion, there is such harmony in scribble.


About the Author: Mercedes Lawry has been published widely in such journals as Poetry, Natural Bridge, Nimrod, and Prairie Schooner. She has published two chapbooks—There are Crows in My Blood and Happy Darkness—and has received honors from the Seattle Arts Commission, Jack Straw Foundation, Artist Trust and Richard Hugo House, been a three-time Pushcart Prize nominee and held a residency at Hedgebrook. Mercedes has also published short fiction as well as stories and poems for children.

Truckee River Rock by Julia Park Tracey

IMG_7876


 

Truckee River Rock

 

Half moon floats in an empty sky,
Like a slice of lemon in a cool drink.
River calm and silent.
Water skeeter.
One small fish.

A tree carved by a bear,
And a bear carved from a tree.

The wind says shush
and whoa.

Shush and whoa.


About the Author:  Julia Park Tracey is an award-winning poet, author, blogger and journalist. She was named Poet Laureate for the city of Alameda (CA) in 2014. Her contemporary fiction is available through Booktrope. Her women’s history project, The Doris Diaries, has been lauded as a dynamic, exciting peek back at the Roaring Twenties. Her poetry collection, Amaryllis, came out in 2009 (Scarlet Letter Press). Julia’s poetry has appeared most recently online at SweatpantsandCoffee.com, and in print anthologies from New Rivers Press, Moorhouse, Augsburg Books and PEN West. She lives in Alameda and Forestville, CA.