Hot Metal Press

The content below is from the 2008 archived pages of Hot Metal Press.

Anca Vlasopolos

Anca Vlasopolos' accomplishments include:
No Return Address: A Memoir of Displacement (Columbia University Press, 2000), awarded the YMCA Writer’s Voice Grant for Creative Non-Fiction in 2001, the Wayne State University Board of Governors Award and the Arts Achievement Award in 2002; forthcoming, the historical novel Albatross and Samurai, Twilight Times Books, 2007; a poetry collection, Penguins in a Warming World, Ragged Sky Press, 2007; poetry chapbooks, Through the Straits, at Large and The Evidence of Spring; and a detective novel, Missing Members; as well as over two hundred poems and short stories in literary magazines such as The Rambler, Porcupine, Typo, Perigee, Poetry International, Barrow Street, Adagio, Avatar, Terrain, Nidus, Short Story, Natural Bridge, Center, Evansville Review, Santa Barbara Review, River Styx, Spoon River Poetry Quarterly, Weber Review, etc.‚Äč



this fall the sun visits achingly
in short bursts
like a faraway daughter
here on what we’ve made
of Black Marsh
creeks so covered that water
only glancingly caught light
in a dark web
like wing fluttering
mad to untangle itself
into free air
in this place still calling back
to its names—Moross, Grand Marais,
Fox Creek—
it is weeping
from a sky mocking us
all summer with pretense of rain
now hiding itself
behind this dark lid
lifted now
as one might do a pot needing
just a quick check
a brief streak
fires the turning maple   dying ash
these coal leaves waiting
trapped in the shrubs
to smolder


Only Not Rain


on such a day
light at the edge
of lashes
into elliptical rainbows
thugs the starlings
have taken over crabapples
not distant
peck at the margins
of overload
you can hardly hear
for birds’ racket
the sky
hum electric blue
sunlight pours
on such a day
brimmed honeycombs
a neon-green bug
gall on oak
push that deep wonder breath
till not benign
only water
along furrows
dug by long sorrow
on just such a day



Seabirds Continue to Wash Up on Oregon Coast

no tree has yet answered to the name
no plant
unless you count those housemates
who learn to syncopate their symmetries
to the imprisoned anguish
inside Mozart’s giddy violins
so now these birds
a half a world away
from mammals who
through human all too human
named them
these rhinoceros
of open waters
diving two hundred feet to scoop
just a small sardine
these formal black-white auklets
attending their acrobatic balls
show up
in droves
on coasts
washed up
for their own funeral
as if
in solidarity
a half a world away
with hornèd beasts
who too
gone tomorrow



"Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired, signifies, in the final sense,
a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed." Dwight D. Eisenhower