We’re delighted to announce a new addition to our editorial team, Debbie Hall, who’ll be joining Ying Wu in reviewing poetry submissions.
Debbie is a psychologist and writer whose poetry has appeared in a number of literary journals and anthologies, including the San Diego Poetry Annual, Serving House Journal, Sixfold, Poets Reading the News, Poetry24, Bird’s Thumb, Califragile, Gyroscope Review, and Hawaii Pacific Review. Her essays have appeared on NPR’s This I Believe series, in USD Magazine, and in the San Diego Union Tribune. She completed her MFA in 2017 at Pacific University in Forest Grove, Oregon.
Debbie received an honorable mention in the 2016 Steve Kowit Poetry Prize and won second place in the 2018 Poetry Super Highway contest. She is the author of the poetry collection, What Light I Have (Main Street Rag Books, 2018), a finalist in the 2019 San Diego Book Awards, and an award-winning chapbook, Falling Into the River (The Poetry Box, 2020).
In addition to writing, Debbie’s passions include photography and world travel. She and her partner, both native Southern Californians, live in north San Diego County.
Enjoy this poem by Debbie. …
Against Doom
Corona I’m not going
to write about you
or read or think
about you
any longer today
I want a divorce
from you.
To not think about
you I will take a drive
to mail one small envelope
that is not urgent
not touching the mailbox
or getting out of my car
enjoying scenery
on the way and back
sights that are well known
to me and usually fairly
boring but suddenly
are bright and compelling.
For lunch a comfort
dose of peanut butter
seems necessary
and instead of thinking
about you I am
contemplating the wind
and orioles fighting
over grape jelly
in the feeder.
Then it is time
to brew tea—
Earl Grey with its
floral notes and
while I drink it
I do not consider
the loss of taste
and smell some people
infected by you
have reported.
Once I have written
this poem that is not
about you I will watch
the evening news
but avert my eyes
& mute the sound
when the topic
of you comes up
and sip my gin martini
with its delightful scent
of juniper berry.
When I go to sleep
tonight after
not thinking about
the vast unknown
hampering science
right now in its
fight against you
and your ilk
I will dream of sailing
far out to sea
where you are but
a faint apparition
on a distant shore—
soon to be disappeared
by the morning tide.
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