KAKALAK
An Anthology of Carolina PoetsEditors:
Lisa Zerkle, Richard Allen Taylor, Beth Cagle BurtPoetry Contest Judge:
Susan LudvigsonISBN: 1-59948-025-5
Poetry, 160pp, $10Link to KaKaLaK
Guest Poets Winners Other Selected Poets Artists Sample Poems
KAKALAK 2006
POETS & ARTISTS
Kathryn Stripling Byer, Poet Laureate of North Carolina
Marjory Heath Wentworth, Poet Laureate of South Carolina
Fred Chappell, Former Poet Laureate of North Carolina
William Aarnes
Julie Ann Cook
Wendy H. Gill
Alex Grant
Jaki Shelton Green
Raychelle Heath
Caroline Castle Hicks
David Brendan Hopes
Steve Lautermilch
Susan M. Lefler
Sally B. Miller
Lenard D. Moore
Gail Peck
Diana Pinckney
Barbara Presnell
Lee Robinson
Kimberly Jane Simms
Lori Storie-Pahlitzsch
Eric Vithalani
Carolyn Beard Whitlow
Robert Abbate
Kathy Ackerman
Betty Adcock
Dan Albergotti
Malaika King Albrecht
Gilbert Allen
Tameka Barnett
Katherine W. Barr
Coyla Barry
Michael Bassett
Jeffery Beam
Henry Berne
Kate Z. Birgel
Lee Richard Bradbury
Peg Bresnahan
Sally Buckner
Ann Campanella
Kristi Castro
Barbara Conrad
Phebe Davidson
Peggy V. Douglas
Joseph DuPré
Clarence A. Eden, Jr.
Linda Annas Ferguson
Blynn Field
Janice Moore Fuller
Vera G?mez
Erica Gosser
Prudence M. Greene
Robin Greene
Lucinda Grey
Bill Griffin
Maureen Ryan Griffin
Anne Hicks
Marylin Hervieux
Irene Blair Honeycutt
Melissa Johnson
Andrew E. Kalnik
Kathryn Kirkpatrick
Genevieve C. Kissack
Barbara Kidd Lawing
Suzanne Baldwin Leitner
Kimberly Linow
Michael H. Lythgoe
Don Mager
Devon Marsh
Barbara J. Mayer
Gail McCullough
Michele Merrigan
Susan Meyers
Jeff Miles
Rebecca J. Mitchell
Jason Mott
Valerie Nieman
Pam Noble
E.V. Noechel
Lucinda Paris
John W. Partin
Dannye Romine Powell
Lisa Hammond Rashley
Glenis Redmond
S. Craig Renfroe, Jr.
Melissa Robon
Eric Rogers
Leslie M. Rupracht
Jessica N. Sampley
Melissa Sawyer
Sharon A. Sharp
Nora Hutton Shepard
Carole Battista Sineni
Emily Smith
Mark Smith-Soto
Shelby Stephenson
Susan Finch Stevens
Dennis Ward Stiles
Julie Suk
Cedric Tillman
Deno Trakas
Ryan G. Van Cleave
Julie Walczesky
Alice Toporoff Wallace
Guy Waltz
Rebecca Warren
Stella Ward Whitlock
Earl J. Wilcox
Dede Wilson
Seabrook Wilkinson
Katherine Williams
Maggie Wynne
Sally Davis
Marilyn Charlat Dix
Henryk Fantazos
Susan Fecho
Donna H. Goodman
Mark Gordon
Andrew E. Kalnik
Steve Lautermilch
Sally B. Miller
Dede Norungolo
Krissa Palmer
Sally Rogers
rpk
David Simonton
Jason Waggoner
Tracy Weldon
Debbie Jean Will
Ryan Van Cleave
DEAR ANDREW HUDGINS
God and I no longer speak,
though I often appreciate
his harmonica-playing
and the ability in all of us
to do the hokey-pokey
and dance the tarantella.Andrew, I know your faith
comes in a bottle without
warning label or prescription
dosage, but mine is a ping-pong
ball bobbing in a wine vat
full of ink, this dark dream.It's not that I don't believe
in beginningless pasts
or the bone-dust of prophets,
but rather that when I hitchhike
the mesa's burning rim, such
beauty, my missing hand itches.I understand the impulse
to thieve, to take--I would
break God in half, take his
wishbone and snap it alone
to lure one last wish to me.
Cartographer without map-making tools, dagger without
handle, the quiet of this
paradise is compromised
by a dead man whispering
cold in my ear. He says
the night is scabbed with angels.He says every bluejay thinks
of nothing but the sky.
Diana Pinckney
Honorable Mention
THE SPINSTER CONSIDERS HER OPTIONS
For a long time now I have tried to think
of a nice way to kill Papa. He's stubborn
as God, just as remote. Other old men
die. He's lived on, hunched over his Latin
and Greek. Pulled those study doors together
while Mama scraped to get us by, so thin
when she died you could read a newspaper
through her hand.I take in boarders now, put food on a table
crowded with men lonelier
than I am. They're afraid
of Papa. He stares down any fellow
who dares to speak
or hold a door for me.I've no stomach to poison the tea --
just want him gone, God forgive me, clean gone.
Cousin Albert, his favored nephew till that day
Papa stumbled on us in the garden.
Only a baby bird we bent to watch.
Albert took the evening train
back to Lynchburg. For a time
I heard from him by post.
But really, that was all so long ago.Not near enough automobiles to hope
for an accident on Papa's walk.
Though, regular as rain, Mr. Thornben's Packard
hops the curb, driving being so strange
and all. Fire's too risky. Papa would get out
and my box of letters from Albert burn instead.Dusting in the study this morning
while Papa read, I noticed his oak bookcase
had begun to tilt of late. And late
it is. The boarders will soon arrive
for midday dinner. I must snap some beans
before I have to stop and run to see
what on earth has made that awful crash.
Then I'll call our Dr. Penefield. Surely
Cousin Albert will come for Papa's service.