Sandra Sidman Larson has traveled to forty-five of the fifty states, thirty-five countries, and all seven continents. Sitting astride the Antarctic Circle and sharing the experience with a seal was a high (low?) point in her travels. Along the way, she has published three chapbooks, two by Pudding House Press. Sandra has been a finalist for the 2013 Lost Horse Press’ Idaho Prize for Poetry and the 2015 Trio House Press’ Trio Award; and a semi-finalist in the 2015 Concrete Press’ chapbook competition. She is an active member of The Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis.
All work
A dinosaur dangles over my grandson at the Field Museum near a pink thumb that pops into the prom picture of my granddaughter dressed in strapless red leaving her house in Medina …
I knew Socrates was gone, but where are all the other philosophers, traders, criminals? And no pickled fish! …
More from The Journal
- Poetry
I have fallen in love with winter, /
with the day that ends at 3:45 in the afternoon. //
with the man striding along the path grasping /
a pink plastic bag that glows incandescent /
although it only contains dish soap /
and the cat food he carries home after work …
- Poetry
...you wonder again about the soul, /
Where it hides, where it ventures. /
There's always one you have to bring to oblivion...
- Poetry
I wanted to be gray-faced /
and hated by the Yankees /
in the suburbs past Carleton.
- Poetry
Once he’d made the long, impetuous trip, /
once we were there, evening air billowing my skirt /
over the Pacific, surf sweeping like brushes over drums, /
I knew we’d marry.
- Poetry
By Kris Spencer
I lived by a river with tides unresolved /
Under the house a sewer under a wooden board it ran /
Sometimes a tapping sometimes a hum in the night like a motor
- Poetry
By Christopher Chambers
and I dream of a young woman from Prague /
standing beside a red motorcycle as if so much /
depended upon it...
Read more Poetry or Postcard Prose
