2018 Chapbooks!

Our complete 2018 line of chapbooks is listed below; we’ve added three chaps to previously selected works. The first two titles are selected from our January pool of submissions, and we’ll also be publishing our first photographic chapbook (Light Experiments).

Says the Forest to the Girl by Sally Rosen Kindred (poetry)

Never Leave the Foot of an Animal Unskinned by Sara Ryan (poetry & CNF)

Light Experiments by Madeleine Barnes (photography)

Dreamland for Keeps by Sarah Nichols (erasure poetry)

Love Me, Anyway by Minadora Macheret (poetry)

Two of our 2017 books were moved to 2018:

Blackbird Whitetail Redhand by Lindsay Lusby (poetry)

Found Footage by Maggie Woodward (erasure poetry)

Congratulations to our new poets & writers & artists!
We can’t wait to work with you to bring your books into the world.

Thank you to everyone who submitted. Thank you for your patience in awaiting our reply—we took a bit longer to read this year than usual. Once again, we were given the pleasure of making some very difficult decisions. We had to say no to some books we’ll be buying when they’re released from other presses. We’re quite sure they’ll be picked up soon.

You can pre-order any combination of three, five, or all of the 2018 line, and we’ll send them as they’re finished on the binding table.

(All of our titles are individually printed, collated, trimmed & bound by hand.)

How Darkness Enters a Body // Sarah Nichols

How Darkness Enters a Body by Sarah Nichols

“In this darkness, desire is safe,” begins the title poem for Sarah Nichols’ How Darkness Enters a Body. In this darkness, desire is safe. There are secrets here, confessions. The poet brings us to the photos of Diane Arbus, inspecting contact sheets and images, mining poems from silver embedded in emulsion. Black and white photographs transformed into ekphrastic lines, light and shadow, poet leading reader to artist to begin a conversation. The speaker’s voice is sure, whispering to us in the way Arbus’ images do, pools of darkness unexpected and edged, like shadows thrown under an eclipse. Confront her or take her hand—these and more choices are yours:  “Here is your tongue, sister. / Let me share it.”  (Porkbelly Press, 2018) » available in our shop » more info

 

about the poet

Sarah Nichols lives and writes in Connecticut. She is the author of three chapbooks, including She May Be a Saint (Hermeneutic Chaos Press, 2016) and Edie (Whispering): Poems from Gray Gardens (Dancing Girl Press, 2015). She also co-edits Thank You for Swallowing, an online journal of feminist protest poetry. Her poetry and essays have also appeared and are forthcoming in Queen of Cups, The RS 500, Rogue Agent, and Ekphrastic Review.

excerpt

SOMETHING WAS THERE AND NO LONGER IS

After Inadvertent Double Exposure of a Self Portrait and Images of Times Square, NYC, 1957, by Diane Arbus

I haunt this place now. Under the
neon, I pass between worlds. The

spirit photograph no one wants to
believe.

I catch my subjects so easily: the
woman, poised before the next cigarette,

almost recognizes herself in the
snare of my lens. Or the crowd,

thinking themselves safe in the light
of the next dime show miracle.

I don’t dare to shut my eyes.