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ISBN: 978-1-964277-95-0, 88 pages, $15 (+ shipping)
The Advance Sale Discount price on this title has expired. For those who prefer to pay by check, the price is $20/book (which includes shipping & sales tax) and should be sent to: Main Street Rag, 12180 Skyview Drive, Edinboro, PA 16412.
Jonathan K. Rice is the author of three previous poetry collections, all published by Main Street Rag Publishing. He is the founding editor of Iodine Poetry Journal which he published for seventeen years. He co-edited Kakalak in 2016 with Pat Riviere-Seel and Richard Allen Taylor. In 2017 He co-edited Of Burgers & Barrooms with M. Scott Douglass. He is also a visual artist. His poetry and art have appeared in numerous publications, including Gargoyle, San Pedro River Review, South Florida Poetry Journal, Vox Populi and anthologies Southern Poetry VII: North Carolina and Hand in Hand: Poets Respond to Race. A recipient of the 2012 Irene Blair Honeycutt Legacy Award for outstanding service in support of local and regional writers, awarded by Central Piedmont Community College, he lives with his wife in Charlotte, NC.
This book asks the classic question of poetry: where can a book of poems take you when it starts with pillows abandoned on the interstate? The next poem answers: “it can make you want / to dream / your own sky, / a different earth, / a firmament of your own.” Each subsequent poem provides a different answer, but they share in common that it will take you “where memory is everything / where it’s alright to weep / to delight / to revel in the holy stench of redemption.” ~Scott Owens, Poet Laureate, Hickory, NC
The poems in Jonathan K. Rice’s collection, This Is Where I Came In, illuminate seemingly small, ordinary moments, transporting the reader into a dreamlike landscape that often feels like an alternative universe. Yet, the poems are always grounded, “anchored in earth and memory.” Whether freeing an octopus from a fishing hook or sharing a kiss after wine with sliced pears and cheese, these poems remind us, in unexpected ways, what it is to be human. ~Pat Riviere-Seel, author of Because I Did Not Drown
Jonathan K. Rice does the old soft-shoe through a pantheon of insects and hearts like a freaky Fred Astaire on Acid. Rice has an enormous heart, and it shows. Sing on brother, play on drummer.—Richard Peabody, editor, publisher, Gargoyle Magazine
after a painting by DJ Gaskin
It’s not the slope of ancient stone,
the glacial movement that left it there
nor the low-hanging clouds
and waters they released
not even the voice of the poet
or the bleat of his wife’s goats
who once lived nearby,
not the critters or flora
that make this mountain come alive.
It’s the one who knelt and placed her hand
upon the countenance of stone,
felt its aging complexion,
its cool sigh of relief and recognition
in her palms as she rubbed
and revealed its perfect flaws.
From one moment to another
it’s never the same,
but it’s steadfast, always there
anchored in earth and memory.
for Milla
Awake before dawn
she quietly stirs
through the house,
patiently stares at me
as I sleep.
I feel her gaze upon
my closed eyelids,
her breathing upon mine.
She wants breakfast.
She wants to walk,
to sniff every tree,
every root,
every acorn,
to pee on every
worthy tuft of grass,
plant or flower.
She’s bored with squirrels,
wants to chase deer,
make friends with coyotes,
possums, Canada geese.
I can’t pretend she’s not there.
She knows I’m awake.
She knows I know.
Her dark Samoyed eyes penetrate me.
1
The family lie:
there’s no mustard
in the deviled eggs
at holiday gatherings.
Everybody knows
except the person
who claims to be
allergic, yet
always eats them
with no reaction.
2
The woman who was
a working girl, moved
to another city and state,
found a real job
and a decent guy.
Lives in the suburbs,
makes up a past
as she mingles
with other moms
at the playground.
3
There is the spy
who thrives on secrecy,
who at times forgets who he is,
forgets the truth,
forgets the secret,
sometimes remembers
he has a wife,
a dog, a family,
his real name.
4
A doctor, priest
and a lawyer walk into a bar.
Discretion rules
the conversation.
Content in their silence
and alcohol,
they watch hockey
and football
on flat screen televisions
propped at angles
above top shelf liquor.
5
A dad is a Freemason,
a trained esoteric,
can’t divulge the rites,
the reasons,
can’t keep track
of lies and reality,
but does good deeds
when he wears his fez.
6
The secretary
who knows everything,
every call, every memo,
appointment, client
off and on the calendar,
when and where,
but not always the why.
Keeps her own notes
just in case.
7
The ex-con dishwasher
at a greasy diner
who wears a hairnet
over his head and beard
because he doubles as a cook,
flipping burgers.
Says he can fry anything,
doesn’t really care who knows
he’s an ex-con
except the mother
of the waitress he likes.
8
The guy off the grid
on some mountain,
who knows what’s edible
and what’s not,
knows how to kill,
how to make fire,
how not to be seen,
wants to live this way
as long as he can.
9
A furtive partygoer,
the uninvited, who came
up the elevator with a woman,
who said he can join her,
that it will be fun,
so she introduces him
to two people who’d rather
talk with one another.
He meets the bartender,
drinks a glass of wine,
slips out to meet a friend
on another floor.
10
A nineteenth century captain
in the Gulf of Siam,
his ship awaiting wind
to catch the sails,
becomes asylum
for a naked swimmer,
seeking refuge.
The captain’s
doppelganger
in hiding.