Kip Knott is a writer, photographer, art dealer, and teacher living in Ohio. His most recent book of poetry is Clean Coal Burn (Kelsay Books). His first collection of short stories, Some Birds Nest in Broken Branches, was released earlier in 2022 from Alien Buddha Press. In his spare time, he travels throughout the Midwest and Appalachia in search of lost art treasures. You can follow him on Instagram at @kip.knott and on Twitter at @kip_knott.
November reminds me of family. The Great Feast. The best part was my Nanny’s shrimp stuffed mirlitons (Chayote, the unofficial squash of New Orleans) I try to make them at home every year in her honor, but never quite hit the mark. Her name was Aunt Mary Jane, but she helped raise me, my cousins, and also our parents when they were young. Then our kids when they eventually came as well. So everyone called her Nanny. She simply called us Heart, we all had one collective name. Whoever you are, wherever you are, whatever you’re celebrating this month/week/day or this very minute, love each other. Because we all have one collective name, Human. These moments and memories are all we really own in the end. Unless death goes digital.
Okay, enough squishiness, back to the business at hand. Y’all know what time it is! Below is this month’s lineup, and if you’d like to submit I’m about to start reading for February. Send 1-3 poems to cajunmuttpress@gmail.com with a bio and author photo. No simultaneous submissions, please. Still not taking manuscripts, but keep your eyes peeled for our next release, Somniloquy & Trauma in the Knottseau Wellby Tim Heerdink! More info coming soon, awaiting the proofs.
I never depended on the sexual kindness & comfort from complete strangers.
I was raised on Dateline & after hearing all about my girlfriends’ crazy shit, the pepper spray was in my purse half-cocked, ready to strike any madman like a cobra.
But I have to stop sleeping with you— this will be the last time we make any form of love together—I was destroyed by our last congress.
Since you left me, I’ve been an empty shell,
& I know I have to move on, & I will find someone else I will let it slip in, & when I feel comfortable with myself, alone, love might happen
like a surprise hatching of tiny snakes, stunning their prey with good venom.
Damn boy, you look tasty— let me tread on you lightly.
Carrie Magness Radna is an audiovisual cataloger at the New York Public Library, a choral singer and a poet who loves to travel. Her poems have previously appeared in The Oracular Tree, Mediterranean Poetry, Muddy River Poetry Review, Poetry Super Highway, Shot Glass Journal, Vita Brevis, Home Planet News, Cajun Mutt Press, Walt’s Corner, Polarity eMagazine, The Poetic Bond (VIII-X), Alien Buddha Press, Jerry Jazz Musician, Rye Whiskey Review and First Literary Review-East. Her poetry collections: Hurricanes never apologize (Luchador Press) was published in December 2019, and In the blue hour (Nirala Publications), was recently published in February 2021. Born in Norman, Oklahoma, she now lives with her husband in Manhattan, New York. https://carriemagnessradna.com
