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Friday, November 18, 2016

Submission Opportunity



The 2017 Rose Post Creative Nonfiction Competition is now open for submissions. This contest awards $1,500 in prizes to a piece of lasting nonfiction that is outside the realm of conventional journalism and has relevance to North Carolinians.

 Subjects may include traditional categories such as reviews, travel articles, profiles or interviews, place/history pieces, or culture criticism.
 
The first-, second-, and third-place winners will receive $1,000, $300, and $200 respectively. The winning entry will be considered for publication by Ecotone.

For full guidelines, and to submit, click here.

Thursday, November 10, 2016

Poetry Contest Winner



Each year we post the winning entry for our Poetry contest. This year's winner is Bonnie Korta.   
The theme this year was "The Long Hot Summer."
 

Summer Splintered 
My summer ruined 
its softness destroyed by sharp forces 
June's laser ballet behind my eye
July's humerus bone in jagged smithereens
August's regrets gnawing at my soul
their forked tongues have sucked all the sugar out

I am captive in summer's humid envelope
like a butterfly in a Mason jar
able to see the season blooming all around me
yet unable to open myself to her short lived beauty

No sashaying bright frocks
no outdoor music at Bynum or Saxapahaw
no skinny dipping in pools of redemption
no inhaling roses in the garden I promised myself 
no picnics or hikes or vacations 

Porch bound spectator, I dive into self pity 
not knowing if these few moments of splendor 
will be my last summer 
out of the corner of my sidelined eye
glimpse of iridescence, ruby and jade
a hummingbird's wing fluttering, a whirligig
same speed, same sheen my brother once owned

How his heart would leap
to sweat under this brute sun 
take delight in the return of the honeybee
marvel at the strange purple flower shooting up among the weeds 
alive again for just one hour in this long hot summer 

I pray that he is one of the winged creatures 
ruffling the zinnias of my discontent on this wasted afternoon
I know it is my duty as his agent, representing all my dead 
to move my eyes across the panorama of all our summers 
seize the remains of this one while it still blazes
rejoice in the grace I do not deserve