2022 Pushcart Prize Nominees
"Oil Spill" by Phoebe Bubendorfer OIL SPILL A red-throated loon mired in a slick of oil strains her neck in each effort to lift her body from the toxic sludge. One last quiver of wings. She lowers her head to her breast eyes closed in acceptance. Rainbows in her feathers.
"The Burning of the Whales" by Bill Graeser THE BURNING OF THE WHALES Fire never seems to mind whether it's the curl of a candle wick or a bed with baby sleeping. So it was with the whales beached in Oregon and the not knowing what else to do with the corpses. If we were but fire we would not mind either. But we are also water, even one drop of which forms a tear. Those who were there that day, who lit the match and beheld the flames on fiery wings rise, they will never forget the trembling of the sea in their chest.
"The Buffalo" by John Mitchell THE BUFFALO The buffalo stands still in the wind. Staring ahead, huge, not even bothering To guard its flanks. Mysterious, majestic, silent. Misplaced in this warm world, Waiting for the next interval of ice, Watching the horizon for the return Of glaciers and the arctic birds, Screaming from the cold, blue sky.
"Fever" by Lily Nelson FEVER You are nine Lying on the front room couch And time is thick like jelly Fever has made the world soft And golden Honey coating your skin Stuck in your ears Heavy enough that moving feels like wading through a pool Except worse Except slower and more tiring Like the world is a blanket wrapped around your shoulders And now the world is burning You can't smell the smoke But your skin feels like you've become a star A bright heat coursing through your veins Flesh pasty and pale The world is too bright and hot for nothing to be burning
"Listening to Dvorak's Humoresque" by Lucille Morgan Wilson LISTENING TO DVORAK'S HUMORESQUE The fingered notes play up and down my spine like gentle ripples in a laughing stream. Caresses linger, freeing by design sweet fantasies I had not dared to dream. A swell of melody weaves shining chords into my reverie, pulls me along with silver strings. Such leading, peace affords. Staccato notes, both delicate and strong, strew in my path bright nuggets of delight: a momentary rainbow after shower; stars bursting through the canopy of night; the dance of carillon bells from a tower. The final quarter notes fall clear and sweet and drop a host of bluebells at my feet.