A Plate of Pandemic

Published Semi-annually on the Solstices 

Header plates

Creativity in Times of Crisis

The Spring Equinox Issue

Although sharply different in focus, each of the features here offers interesting takes on spatial relationships.  William Morgan’s photo essay on New England burying grounds considers what is below the surface and above. Jeanne Lemkau contrasts the infinity of space and the hugeness of glaciers to the comparatively miniature scale of humanity.  In “The Stoplight,” poet Suzanna de Baca considers the expansion of a generic American town.  The pharmacist protagonist of Michael L. Gray’s short story escapes to the bounded wilderness, hoping to survive both the pandemic and social conformity.  James Penha’s poem evokes the small world of the childhood sickbed, contrasting the gestures of fingerpainting with the oximeter that measures oxygen saturation in the adult body, pulling our attention to the suggestion of lung disease.  And Jill Pesce’s intense monologue offers a fierce look at an interior world cut off from the community at large.

 

In this issue we also witness writers assessing the damage and trauma of the Covid pandemic.  Covid, for now, is in the rear-view mirror.  What lies ahead remains to be seen.  What crises are on the horizon?  

 

March 19, 2024

Selma Moss-Ward

 

Editor

 

 

The Endless Pandemic: Facing Death in New England

William Greenwood (1721-87), Dublin, New Hampshire.   All photos by the author   When the pandemic arrived, my wife Carolyn and I had had practice for staying at home and avoiding other people. Following her chemotherapy and a bone-marrow transplant

More »

My Mouth Could Kill Someone

inspired by Erica Hunt   I was oblivious, optimistic even, when the pandemic arrived and my youth grabbed the first train out, one way ticketed. I took the pause gladly, a minute to listen to the clock’s tocks, close my

More »

Quicksilver

As I bemoan covidity, I secretly recognize karma for my younger self’s joy when the thermometer shot up—“that’s why they call it quicksilver,” my mother said— beyond 100 and school was “out of the question” leaving me instead to answer

More »

The Herd In The Swamp

I was probably done with the lemming herd long before the corona bug hit, but still captive to the mandatory American myth of communal technological bliss, even as a seditious wild current coursed within me. That dark current bided its

More »

Taking Measure at El Fin del Mundo

When I was a curious five year old, I asked my Dad what he did when he went to work each day. He replied that once in his office at the university, he drank a magic potion that made him

More »

The Stoplight

There is a stoplight now in my hometown at the intersection of Highway 69 and 210.   I slow my car down, impatient for the light to turn. I look over at the cemetery where my mother-in-law is buried. I

More »

Subscribe to receive updates