GAS Featured Poet: Arvilla Fee

 

Arvilla Fee lives in Dayton, Ohio, teaches English for Clark State College, and is the managing editor for the San Antonio Review. She has published poetry, photography, and short stories in numerous national and international journals. Her poetry books, The Human Side and This is Life, are available on Amazon. Arvilla loves writing, photography and traveling and never leaves home without a snack and water (just in case of an apocalypse). Arvilla’s favorite quote in the whole word is: "It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.” ~ Henry David Thoreau. To learn more, visit her website .

The Wishing Star

 

it streaked across the sky one night,

just above the red glow of her cigarette,

she made a wish; she made a thousand

                                                                        wishes

that her trailer wouldn’t tilt to the left,

that her double shifts at the diner

would bring in enough tips to pay rent,

that her mother wouldn’t drink herself

                                                                        to death

she didn’t really believe in stars

or Santa Clause or the tooth fairy,

just wasn’t raised on foolishness,

always looking behind bushes and

                                                                        bruises

but there was something about that star,

the way it left a lingering dust tail,

that made her think maybe, just this once,

something in the cosmic universe might

                                                                        listen

My Dog Will Get Me

 

when I slowly rise from the bed,

each joint creaking

like a scarcely-oiled tin man;

he’ll lift his silken head

from his place on the duvet,

knowing it will take me

a few more minutes to walk

toward the kitchen cupboards

to make my tea and his breakfast;

when I stay in my tattered nighty

until midday, his kind brown eyes

will not judge, not even with my hair

yet uncombed, my teeth unbrushed;

we’ll putter around the garden,

looking for ripe tomatoes,

the only veggie I can still pick

without throwing my back out of kilter;

we’ll doze in the recliner after lunch

probably in the middle of a game show;

when I awake, I’ll search for my glasses,

and he’ll wait patiently, ears perked

for my shout of glee when I find them

atop my head; he’ll understand when

I’m out of dog biscuits and milk

and wag his tail when I promise

he can tag along to the grocer tomorrow;

should I grow melancholy, he’ll place

his paw on my arm and sigh in solidarity.

 

GAS Featured Poet: Arvilla Fee

 

Arvilla Fee lives in Dayton, Ohio with her husband, three of her five children, and two dogs. She teaches for Clark State College, is the lead poetry editor for October Hill Magazine, and has been published in over 100 magazines. Her three poetry books, The Human Side, This is Life, and Mosaic: A Million Little Pieces are available on Amazon. Arvilla’s life advice: Never travel without snacks. Visit her 

Keep Shining

 

a bedraggled body

that bears the brunt

of poison in my cells:

radiation, chemo—

it’s not for the faint of heart

 

I’m fixed on my reflection,

protruding clavicle,

wrists thin enough to break

with a single backwards snap,

ribs rubbing against my shirt—

 

who is this woman staring

back at me with hollow eyes

and white-washed skin?

I blink and look again—

ah, there I am, a single spark

 

behind amber eyes; I smile,

apply a coat of lipstick

then dab on a bit of blush;

I cover my cold, bald head

with a silver-studded beanie;

 

There you are, I say.

In all your glam and glory. I’m

nothing if not stubborn, a dogmatic

blazing candle who refuses

to be silenced by the dark.

GAS Featured Poet: Arvilla Fee

 

Arvilla Fee lives in Dayton, Ohio, teaches English for Clark State and is the lead poetry editor for October Hill Magazine. She has been published in over 150 magazines worldwide, including North of Oxford, Tipton Poetry Journal, The Orchards Poetry Journal, Rat’s Ass Review, and others. Her poetry books, The Human Side, This is Life, and Mosaic: A Million Little Pieces are available on Amazon. The Stars Above Us (Kelsay Books) comes out July 2026. Arvilla’s life advice: Never travel without snacks!. To learn more, visit her website and poetry magazine: https://soulpoetry7.com/

The Mender

 

frugality was religion

the year 1933

after the crash

after people jumped

from windows

she darned socks

patched holes in blankets

bolstered loose buttons

let out the waistline

of her two day dresses

to accommodate the growth

of her third child

gathered scraps of cloth

to make us new knees and elbows

she must have cried

must have cracked

but that too was mended

with handkerchiefs

and sips of chicory coffee

as she sat beside a dying fire

Between Two Worlds

 

lines are drawn

the way a child draws a black mark

down the center of cream-colored paper

thick     heavy     permanent crayon—

she’s just across the line

in a clay house with a thatched roof

twin mazankas with window boxes

full of lollipop-red geraniums

we share a common language

different dialects

our children are cousins through marriage

same color of eyes and hair

 

but lines are drawn

she on one side—me on the other

and brute men declare us enemies

yes—while sipping wine

and eating their borscht

they decide we shouldn’t speak

then we can’t speak

what with bombs exploding

wails fracturing each fragile night

she and I will survey our yards

in pale morning light—will take stock

of our lives and limbs and lines

Nothing New

 

What has been will be again,
    what has been done will be done again;
    there is nothing new under the sun.

~Ecclesiastes 1:9 (NIV)

 

the climate has changed again

hot      cold     hot     cold

it simply cannot make up its mind

ice ages          volcanoes

blizzards, floods, and dreadful drought

 

countries are at war again

(or still—have they ever ceased?)

open mouths dropping bombs—

that fill the sky with smoke

litter the ground with white crosses

 

women are bruised again

peering through purple eyes

as they shake their dizzy heads

and wonder what happened

to those long-lost fairy tales

 

children are scared again

by boogie men under beds

by boogie men who walk into schools

and pull the trigger

while they scatter like rats in the rain

 

people are weeping again

for the loss of human kindness

for the scheming and the schisms

for the muddy footprints we keep leaving

on what could have been a clean floor

 

Shall We?

 

Shall we sit down to dinner, love?

Shall we indulge in hormone-grown beef?

Shall we agree to digest the dyes—

red #40, yellow #5?

Why this is quite the feast

with sodium nitrates, aspartame,

xanthan gum, and the like.

Do you remember, darling

when hens laid eggs—plain brown eggs

after they’d scratched about on our lawn?

And I believe we used to buy half a cow

(a real cow) that munched on pasture grass

at the Brown’s farm just down the road.

Those were the days, weren’t they, dear—

before  propylparaben and emulsifiers

gave us wicked indigestion and sent us running

to the cancer labs for scans and vials of blood.

I Am Crow

 

wings flush against ribcage

black eyes shining

like two glass marbles

 

i am still as stone

like grandmother taught me

my body concealed by pines

 

she hops once, twice

closer now to the mound

i built from bark and moss

 

with a flurry of flaps

she alights on its peak,

feathers oil-black in the sun

 

i move my lips silently,

grandmother’s incantation

like bubbles on my tongue

 

crow of wisdom

crow of bravery

crow of good fortune

 

if you can spare

but a single feather

i will live in honor of you

 

her caw caw is like salve

in my ears, honeyed sweet

as she takes flight

 

i pad slowly to the mound

and inhale one sharp breath

as i spot a single shaft

 

her gift is tender—

and held between two fingers

i raise it to a gracious sky