of Breakwater Review, a journal of the arts. We're dedicated to finding and showcasing exceptional pieces of poetry and prose.  The journal will be published three times per year and we're a member of the Council of Literary Magazines and Presses.

Breakwater Review is managed by the MFA program at University of Massachusetts, Boston, and we welcome all to submit their work during our  reading periods.  Submissions will soon be available through our web-site!  See Submissions Guidelines for more details.

Samples from this issue:

From "On The Peace To Be Found While Vacuuming"

by Kasandra Larsen

At first it is the rocking, the simple soothing and repeated
step back, front, back that calms thought, lulls muscles
into symbiosis with the rumbling machine, her
in and out whir across contrasting swaths of carpet
approximating steady breathing.
 
Then, there is the picking up and moving, motion performed,
performed again, the kneeling, the standing, the kneeling,
realization: post-Katrina replacements, donations
have left you with embarrassments of riches, thirty-two
pairs of shoes.

... READ THE ENTIRE POEM IN OUR POETRY SECTION.

From "Animal Truths"

by Rebecca Coffey

     There is no bad weather on the tundra. Yes, for nine months there is only freezing.  But freezing hardens snow, and when snow is hard reindeer don't sink.
     Tundra is not ice.  It thaws into a sponge in the months called False Calving and Real Calving.  By One-Year-Old Doe's Calving, it is firm again.  It is green with yellow poppies.  We wear no boots as we run across grass, racing mosquitoes to the edge of the world.  The glaciers that float make huge, cracking sounds.  We gather auk eggs and celebrate summer.
     But when winter and freezing come again our rituals celebrate them.  If they didn't, winter would have hurt feelings. 
     It is our way to be grateful for everything.  Mostly we are grateful for reindeer.  Without them we would have no trotting herd to follow from coast to inland and back again.  There would be no variety.  We would make no journeys through the land of many tiny lakes.  We would make no journeys back again to the world's edge.  Without reindeer, when we are lost, there would be no lead deer to show the way.  Without reindeer, when we are in trouble, the fate of the herd could not foretell our fate. 
     Without reindeer meat, nothing we eat would embolden us.  Without reindeer blood, nothing red and liquid would protect us from doom.  Without reindeer, we would have no clothes from skins, no thread from tendons.  We would have no hide-sided chums to shelter our families, nowhere to sleep with our feet to the fire. We would have no blankets, buttons, or tool handles. 
     And without reindeer, who would eat grass?  Unless grass is eaten it will wither.  If grass withers, lakes will have no pretty edges. When they reflect sun they will do so glumly.  With only sadness to see, sun might darken and die.  As might we all, without reindeer.   So if the mosquitoes are not driven away by my fish oil and urine, if the mosquitoes bite me anyway, I let them.  If I don't, they will eat reindeer.  And if reindeer die, the world may die...

... READ THE ENTIRE POEM IN OUR PROSE SECTION.