morning forgets
Issue 161
Alex Carrigan
Guy Cramer
Paul Dickey
Diane D. Gillette
M.L. Hedison
Lukas Hibdon
Steve Klepetar
David Anson Lee
Robert McDonald
Juan Pablo Mobili
Brad Rose
Alex Stolis
Lynn Strongin
Natalie Wolf
April Woody
Allison Zhang
The Note
Dear Readers,
For some years now, our terrific editorial team at ambidextrous bloodhound press has worked for no money. Effective October 15, 2025, that will continue. However, I have made available a limited dental insurance plan, which requires the editors to see Lyle Skench, DVM, formerly of Scottsdale, Arizona but, candidly, we don't really recommend it. (Plus, he's formerly from Scottsdale. We're not entirely sure where he is now.) It's time to expand the benefits of being an editor here at the press.
Editors’ Deluxe Auto Insurance Policy™
Covered Vehicles
• Motor vehicles manufactured by Saab and Saturn (2020–2025 models), Pontiac Aztek, Yugo, American Motors Gremlin, and Telsa (cars branded “Telsa,” NOT “Tesla.” Telsas are manufactured in Surinam, South America.)
• Odometer readings must not exceed 17,000 miles or 21,000 kilometers. (17,000 miles is more than 21,000 kilometers, but we cover fewer kilometers because we’re based in the USA, where we continue to resist the metric system on the logical grounds that it’s logical.)
Coverage Provided
This policy proudly offers:
• Sentimental Value Protection: In the event of total loss, we’ll send a handwritten note of condolence and a coupon for 15% off wiper fluid.
• Acts of God: Unlike other insurers, we do cover damages caused by Acts of God. if (a) they are second lightning strikes and (b) God provides a signed affidavit admitting responsibility. (Good luck getting Him to sign. What is with That Guy?)
• Actual Money Reimbursement (AMR): Payment for damage to vehicles caused by falling hams. (Send us the offending ham.)
• Flat Tire Tony. Tony will change your flat tire if it’s a weekend afternoon and an “easy drive” from his last known home address in Cushing, Oklahoma. (Note: Tony will not work on Telsas. Also, if you happen to locate Tony, tell him we're looking for Lyle Skench, DMV. If Tony says he has no idea where Skench is, tell him he's a liar and "lean on him.")
*We will pay to replace this part:
Exclusions
We will not cover damage related to, arising from, or in any way involving:
* Collisions—whether with another car, object, an idea, or with other editors arguing over a poem. We DO cover damage to vehicles caused by those proton-proton collisions at the Large Hadron particle accelerator detected by the ATLAS and CMS detectors which were regarded as candidates for detection of the Higgs boson.
* Mechanical “failure,” including engine failure, transmission failure, or failure of glove compartments. We don’t like the word “failure.” Broken parts learn from their mistakes and often move on to new careers. Many now work as adjunct instructors, holding signs that read “Will Work for Shit Pay.” (Too soon for some of you? Too close to home?)
* Tires—because, frankly, those things just wear out with use or suddenly explode.
* Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.
* Windshields damaged for the first time. However, we may cover the repair of a first crack if a second identical crack later appears in the same windshield. We will not pay for the second crack because come on. Applies to Saabs, Saturns, Pontiac Azteks, Yugos, American Motors Gremlins, and Telsas. Also Foords and Chevlorets.
Claim Process
If you believe you have a claim, and we’re forced to admit you do because you went on TV, sat on a couch, and told your sad little story to a local "On Your Side" reporter—please:
• Fill out Form UH-NO-1.
• Submit it in triplicate to our Claims Department in person, or to Tony at his residence in Cushing. (Email us for Tony’s last known address. Because what is with that guy?)
• Don’t expect a set timeline for our response to your claim. Our official policy: “Wait until later for processing to sometimes occur.”
Deductible
• You’re going to love this. There are NO DEDUCTIBLES. We pay them. Our editors are volunteers. We appreciate them!
Thanks to all who contributed to this issue!
We welcome Katherine D. Seluja as a new editor. She's been with us as an editor over at Unbroken for some time and we're glad to have her on board at Right Hand Pointing.
Love,
Dale
P.S. Because of our concerns about the environment, we are encouraging all our editors to sell their cars.
Steve Klepetar
Weather Report
Rain strikes
the rusted mailbox.
A deer vanishes
between two trees.
The only thing moving
is the wind’s thin mouth.
I am a coat
forgotten
on a hospital chair.
The only thing
certain is how morning
forgets its own light.
April Woody
Her Eyes Drift
Her eyes drift
away from the page.
Condensation builds
on the walls of her drink.
She imagines herself
inside a red lantern,
rising to the dark,
watching the others
grow out of reach.
Brad Rose
My Attorney Reminds Me
Giraffes are 30 times more likely to be hit by lightning than people, but at least identical twins don’t have identical fingerprints. Although my mindset is extra-small, it’s astonishingly well groomed. I mean, how much heat do you actually lose through the top of your head? Of course, I prefer environments that offer the cover of dense vegetation and high prey availability. My tattoos are in the maritime and convict traditions, so I’m someone who needs no further introduction. My court-appointed attorney politely reminds me, “Just don’ talk with your mouth open.”
Tickle
I wouldn’t be caught dead impersonating a cadaver. It makes me wonder though, how long I’d have to be sorry. By the way, which side of gravity are you on? Terrific. I hear that’s no longer the leading cause of death, at least among parachutists. I guess I’m fundamentally a problem solver, although some people seem to think that’s just a smokescreen for my habit of fighting fire with arson. For dinner tonight, I’m going to be currying favor and binge-watching robot TV so that I can keep up with the Joneses. I don’t know about you, but I’m sick and tired of living paycheck-to-paycheck. It’s like a camera taking a picture of a camera. Say, did you know that rats laugh when you tickle them? Yeah, they have a great sense of humor, too. Here, grab this big grey one. See for yourself.
Tipping Point
Yesterday, after the rained-out scavenger hunt, I measured my brainwaves using a theremin. Don’t worry, I washed my hands first. Musical genius runs in my family, like a runaway train overshoots the station. Thank goodness, I’m a fatalist, because now everything seems to be going according to plan. In fact, my call is being recorded for quality control and training purposes. Of course, I prefer supermarket music to other kinds, but I don’t want the internet doing all my thinking for me. I guess it’s all about work/life balance. You don’t think I should leave a cash tip for the robot masseuse, do you?
Allison Zhang
Porcelain Theory
I collect broken things—
a teacup with no handle,
a mirror in four neat pieces,
a cello string I wore as a bracelet.
My mother says
everything breaks
if you press too hard—
voice, faith, the radiator dial.
There’s worship
in returning to what’s fractured:
gold veins in bowls,
a bruise teaching the body to speak.
Today I broke the last plate
just to hear
what it sounds like
to start again.
Eyelash
I find an eyelash on my shirt,
bent like an insect’s antenna.
Last night the dog tore the welcome mat,
swallowed the letter L. Now it reads:
WE COME.
Half a lemon in the fridge
grows a rind of pale fur.
I flick the eyelash off my finger,
watch it vanish mid-air.
Outside, the neighbor’s kid
bounces a ball, each thud
an organ note held too long.
I write down mat, lemon, eyelash—
unsure if I’m listing things I own
or things I’m becoming.
David Anson Lee
Eyelash on the Exam Table
The nurse lifts it with a bit of tape,
a crescent comma fallen
from someone’s sentence.
I steady the light,
watch a weather front
cross the cornea.
Outside, snow begins
on the windshields.
The patient blinks,
and we start a new line.
Lynn Strongin
I Worked My Soul to the Bone
Was up at the terminal early
This weather
Velvety
curves
Like the ribs of a choirboy.
My candle
silently
Moves from birth to death
with
exquisite geometry.
A Small Feeling
—a small
feeling, I
can’t, like
happiness
outlived. ‘August’ Miguel Murphy
It is a vast feeling that lifts me into day
A small flight of birds takes off.
I have no more coin
of Hope
to spend
Although the flowers out my window
Rustle like the very silks of Versailles.
Once again there is a mote in one eye.
It takes strength to shove my window open.
It behooves love to imagine a small flight of birds.
Paul Dickey
Would Want to Know
We have made the arrangements
for everyone we have ever known
in advance. We know what has to happen.
At the Hospice House, we tell the nurses
they don’t need to call until morning.
Still the phone rings. At 2 a.m.,
or 3 a.m. This morning it was 5:30.
It’s old Ray. This time. We thought
you would want to know.
Lukas Hibdon
Antlers
i felt like easter morning.
i grew antlers and
we hung decorative eggs
from the ends of my now
exposed bones. you treated them
as a frightened mother would (these
appendages were new after all)
but i said not to worry, be as rough as salt
is to crushed cloves. mash and macerate me
into whatever nourishes you.
Diane D. Gilette
Small Enough
It’s cozy in my conch shell. No room for his baby grand piano. No space for more than one kind of fork. I don’t bother packing up his ego or my self-doubt. I leave them behind for the housekeeper to deal with, poor soul.
I like it here on the beach. I perch in my shell and listen to the ocean. He won’t think to look for me here in the sand and the seaweed. He’d wrinkle his nose in disgust at the gull droppings and the sight of the discarded chip wrappers dancing shiny in the wind. He wouldn’t understand why I’d choose this tiny, tight little shell over the house on the hill. But if he does come looking for me, I can tuck myself neatly inside, sit quietly, small enough to be overlooked. Just the right size for me and only me. No room for swinging fists or razor words.
Guy Cramer
The Pig's Belly
My eyes were as round and shiny
as the coins she pulled from my ears,
Every time grandma visited, she’d leave me
change for what she called the pig’s belly,
I had a blue piggy bank under my bed
and worried the money would disappear,
She said pigs were greedy, if they could gnaw
through bone, they’d devour a silver half dollar,
She said money’s a decaying corpse
accumulating interest in greed,
That if one had money, they should use it
to do something good,
When she took in the junkie’s son
all her money went to supporting him,
Her visits became fewer, when she reached out,
it was only to pat me on the head,
When she died, her house empty of all but dust,
Through curtainless windows I watched
two black birds on opposite ends of a worm, stretching it,
as if preparing to wrap it around someone’s neck.
Alex Stolis
Mary Tyler Moore wants
to have an affair with a poet
She wants to inspire sonnets, someone to read
her heart; to love her more than love.
Imagines they sit on a fire escape, share a cigarette,
the sun a dull ache, the rattle and hum of the A-train
packed with commuters dreaming themselves home.
They will interpret the wind, translate birdsong,
ignore any rebuke from the sky. He’ll call her muse;
they’ll become full, yet starving. Complete.
When he reads at the Five Spot Cafe, she’ll feel his
words; a coded message. He’ll be discovered, poems
published stark-black against loud white; she’ll be
beautiful, immortal. No one will have a clue.
Alex Carrigan
How I Find You in the March
Put on your biggest
hat and go
get lost in a crowd.
About the Silver Cross Pendant She Willed Me
My grandmother has
no idea
how I carry her.
Juan Pablo Mobili
The Fist of Memory
My memory closes
like a fist holding tightly
to that moment, when
concerned people ask.
I am summoned
to give my testimony:
the vinyl records
missing from their shelf,
what they left and
what they took,
and why I asked his mother
if they put a hood
over his head,
when they dragged him
to the unmarked car...
the hood, over his head.
Robert McDonald
Pause on Your Front Steps to Witness the Bumblebees’ Industry
in the bee balm patch, or stop
for a moment on Ravenswood Avenue
under evening’s green shadows and the old lady
perfume of the lindens. Begin with leaving,
begin with return. What if there were
a history, and you, the stranger
who waits with me
on the corner for the signal
to walk, what if there were a history written
about your mouth, and I
was one sentence
inside it?
M.L. Hedison
Three Brothers
If I had a sister,
I would be more patient with
eyeliner.
I would know how to
roll out pie dough.
If I had a sister
she could be my mother
when I needed her to be.
She would pick up
on the first ring.
If I had a sister
her children would
fill my endless void.
My brothers never
speak about longing –
how it burns.
Weekend With My Nephew
His packed bag is by the kitchen door,
I toss an energy bar on top—
like mothers do.
Last night, we read my poetry together,
glow of the screen in our glasses.
I wish he were my son.
He pulls the afghan over lanky legs,
sinks back into his hoodie like a snail.
We don’t talk about the girl.
Quiet connection like a breath.
Three years of trying.
Lifetime of ordinary I tried to make mine.
At the train station,
I hold him a moment too long.
Natalie Wolf
On the 6:00 News
There have been reports of a woman
scattering herself to the wind. The pieces
have been getting caught in fences
and choking overeager terriers.
If you see this woman,
the police would like to ask her
to please pull herself together.
She’s making a bit too much of a mess.
There are people watching.
161
Contributors 161
Alex Carrigan (he/him) is a Pushcart-nominated editor, poet, and critic from Alexandria, Virginia. He is the author of Now Let’s Get Brunch (Querencia Press, 2023) and May All Our Pain Be Champagne (Alien Buddha Press, 2022).
Guy Cramer is a medical worker from the Ark-La-Tex region who writes therapeutically. He has recent work in Six Sentences, Citywide Lunch, and Bull Lit (forthcoming). He is on Instagram: guy.cramer.
Paul Dickey has appeared mostly recently in Plume, The Midwest Quarterly, Laurel Review, and Apple Valley Review. Dickey has published over 200 online and print publications, including poetry, short stories, flash fiction, plays, and essays. His most recent book of poetry is Anti-Realism in Shadows at Suppertime.
Diane D. Gillette (she/her) mostly writes short things, but sometimes she strings them together to make longer things. She lives in Chicago with her partner and cats. Read more at www.digillette.com.
M.L. Hedison is an emerging poet based in the coastal town of Wakefield, Rhode Island. She is a former advertising creative director and writer. Her work explores themes of absence, longing, and her Armenian family through lyrical verse. M.L. was published for the first time this year in ONE ART: a journal of poetry, the tiny journal, and an upcoming issue of the Cimarron Review.
Lukas Hibdon is a high school English teacher. He has previously been published in 3 Elements Review. He is just passing through.
Steve Klepetar lives in the Berkshires in Massachusetts. He recently retired as an editor of Right Hand Pointing, surrendering our dental plan and completely missing out on our new auto insurance coverage.
David Anson Lee is a physician and emerging poet whose work captures fleeting moments where the ordinary turns luminous. Drawing on a lifetime of observation, he writes concise, image-driven poems that suggest whole stories in a breath. This is his first poetry submission. David has three poems up on Ambidextrous Bloodhound's The Scarred Tree.
Robert McDonald's work has appeared in many journals over the years, most recently in West Trade Review, 2River Review, and cataloguing poetry magazine. A former bookseller, he lives with his husband in Chicago.
Juan Pablo Mobili was born in Buenos Aires, and adopted by New York. His poems appeared in Tupelo Quarterly, Hanging Loose Magazine, and Louisville Review, among others, as well as publications in Europe, Asia, Latin America, and Australia. He’s a recipient of multiple Pushcart Prize nominations, and his chapbook, Contraband, was published in 2022. In January of 2025, he was appointed Poet Laureate of Rockland County, New York.
Brad Rose is the author of seven collections of poetry and flash fiction: I Wouldn’t Say That, Exactly, WordInEdgeWise, Lucky Animals, No. Wait. I Can Explain, Pink X-Ray, de/tonations, and Momentary Turbulence. His latest book of prose poems, Or Words to that Effect, is forthcoming. His website is www.bradrosepoetry.com
Alex Stolis has had poems published in numerous journals. His work has previously appeared or is forthcoming in ONE ART: a journal of poetry, Piker’s Press, Ekphrastic Review, Louisiana Literature Review, Burningwood Literary Journal, and Star 82 Review. He lives in upstate New York with his partner, poet Catherine Arra.
Lynn Strongin is an American poet currently residing in Canada who has published more than two dozen books. She is a pioneering writer on issues of feminism and disability. Her new book is Dutch Hunger Winter.
Natalie Wolf is a writer from Kansas City pursuing an MFA in fiction writing at the University of Kansas. Her fiction and poetry have appeared in The Hooghly Review, I-70 Review, JAKE, and more. She co-edits One Sentence Poems. You can find her on her website (https://nwolfmeep.wixsite.com/nmwolf) and on Instagram @nwolfcats.
April Woody is a poet living in Virginia. She enjoys exploring various forms, both old and new. Her work has most recently appeared in contemporary haibun online, Unlost, The Pan Haiku Review, and The Ekphrastic Review.
Allison Zhang is a poet and writer based in Los Angeles. An immigrant and bilingual speaker of English and Mandarin, she writes about inheritance, memory, and the quiet ruptures of daily life. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Pithead Chapel, SWWIM Every Day, Sky Island Journal, and others.