Pat Anthony writes from the rural Midwest finding inspiration, in the soil’s rugged furrows and  the faces of those working it. She frequently uses the land as lens while she mines characters, including herself, to explore relationships as a means to heal and survive living with bi-polar disorder. Former poetry editor of Potpourri (out of print) she holds an MA in Humanities Literature from Cal State, among others, teaching English, Spanish, and Special Education until her recent retirement. Writing and publishing since University days, she believes in poeming daily, editing furiously and scrabbling for honesty no matter the cost. She has work published or forthcoming in Cholla Needles, Heron Tree, Third Wednesday, Tipton Review, Passager, Snakeskin, and Open Minds Quarterly, among others.

To the River Gods

we offer sour bread too long
cadged on refrigerator shelf
lost at the back with the browning
lettuces, the wizened plum

crumble stale crisps beside
planks of fish gone past
sell by dates prised from
bright yellow cartons

imagine otters palming
their delights tonight not having
to tumble mussels for
cracking on fat tummies

deft fingers breaking off
chunks of garlic cod, dilled
salmon, adding a damp square
of rye cracker, the occasional
shredded wheat biscuit

if alligator snappers
have not slipped into drowsy
sleep perhaps they will maw
wet bread and marvel

at such softness mantling
their rocky dens, half-heartedly
snatch a piece of fish before
eyelids sag and they succumb

to dreams of warmer waters
lazy summer when someone not
a part of this dream will again
cast bread upon their waters