Wild Greens

Volume 5, Issue i

Fellowship

Wild Greens 5, no. 1 (November 2024)

Fellowship

Welcome to the November 2024 issue of Wild Greens

Welcome to this very special anniversary issue of Wild Greens.

We’re introducing Volume 5 of Wild Greens, which has the lovely naming convention of Volume V or VV; I love it, it looks cool.

This issue is brimming with fellowship, friendship, and companionship. What better way to ring in the new volume than with you, our Wild Greens community!

We’re also selling special edition anniversary hats in cool black. Because black goes with everything, right? I’m obsessed with them and I hope you like them too! If you want to place a pre-order for a special edition Wild Greens black hat, keep an eye out for an email from us in the next few weeks.

We begin with D.C. Nobes’s poem, “Kindred Spirit,” an ode to those we meet while traveling and the connections we make with strangers abroad. “Beach Shelter Gathering,” a photograph, also by D.C. Nobes, captures companions together in Bali. In “Half as Long as We Laughed,” a short story by Fox Rivera, three friends encounter a “witch” and live to tell the tale.  

Maggie Topel’s “Fellowship” logo for the issue references a favorite fellowship from book and movie—The Fellowship of the Ring! For our anniversary special, we pulled an archival Turtle and Hare from Lauren Kimball with a similar theme (“One Bob to Rule Them All”).

“Fair Trade,” a poem by Beth Wolfe, is written for the poet’s best friend.

“Cat-Pup-Cinno” in pencil by Melissa Lomax combines three great things: cats, dogs, and cappuccino. Nilsa Mariano’s personal essay “Sweet Spot” recounts the growing friendship between two new neighbors.  

“Caring through Corona,” a digital drawing by Melissa Lomax created during the early days of Wild Greens, conjures an unlikely spirit of hope and connection during a dark time.

The poem “The Narrow Place” by Emma Goldman-Sherman, written in response to the genocide in Gaza, speaks to ways of finding fellowship independent of religions and the deep scars of history.

“An Ancient Bond” in pen and ink by Angela Patera connects two magnificent animals. “Watching a Bird at the Window,” a poem by Ion Corcos, captures the feeling of being close to nature. “Me & My Buddy,” in watercolor and colored pencils by Grace Clark, depicts the artist’s companionship with her cat Lucy.

In fellowship we welcome in a new year of Wild Greens.

-Rebecca

Support Wild Greens through our Ko-fi page!

Kindred Spirit

Pass me the bottleand share stories and pains.Tell each other talestrue in spiritif not in everylittledetail.
We’ll drink to each other’s healthand raise a toast to our fathersour mothersour childrenour loverseach other.
 We will speak of homesfar awayacross deep oceansand vast skies.
And we might go quiet—retreat into our respective thoughtsof past dreams and sorrowsof present failings and spacesleft unfilledthat cause us to seek refugein the company of a bottleand a kindred spirit.

by D.C. Nobes

Beach Shelter Gathering

by D.C. Nobes

Photography

Inspiration: A group of friends have gathered together at a beach shelter in Sanur, Bali. Their relaxed fellowship shows as they lounge at the shelter and talk about their plans for the day.

Half as Long as We Laughed

by Fox Rivera

I never could tell what it was about that day. Did we want to make our last day of summer memorable? Were we taunted by the creaks of the trees and dark clouds? Maybe we were just bored. But whatever it was that took the three of us to the top of the hill to 51 Witch Rue, it wouldn’t let us turn back.

Trey was the first to step past the sign, the farthest anyone but the mailman dared to go. The leaning, rust-covered street sign that led into the witch’s cul-de-sac originally read Switch Rue but was struck by a storm before any of us had been born. Some say the witch herself called the bolt down as a warning to any who dare to approach. 

Oct shoved me across before following behind. As I stumbled forward, a twig snapped in a bush, and each of us froze. We felt silly after a breath and began the steep hill towards the witch’s house. 

The hill seemed to grow taller under our feet, every step steeper than the last. I have no idea how long it took us to get to the top. It couldn’t have been as long as it felt, but somehow when we reached its summit, the sun had begun to dip behind the faraway edges of town. 

The fleeting light cast shadows on the house. The way they moved across its chipped, burned, and rotting wood gave the house reptilian life: a slow ever-shifting signal of a predator’s incoming strike. 

The windows were almost entirely covered with plywood or tattered quilts.  However, one window, beside the front door, stood clear. Its glass was foggy and cracked, but if someone went to it, and pressed their face right up against the glass, they would be able to see into the witch’s house. 

“Nose goes!” Trey whispered, his pointer finger nearly bashing straight through the center of his face. Before I could make sense of what he had said, Oct, too, had his finger sitting on top of his sniffer. When I finally caught up, I sighed.

“You guys are jerks,” I spat, taking slow footsteps up toward the porch steps. 

“Come on Qat, you know you’ve always been the bravest of us all,” Oct offered with a dollar store smile. 

“Fuck you,” I shot back and continued on. 

Each step creaked underneath me, a growl that warned me to step no further. I looked over my shoulder. Oct and Trey had stepped slightly further away, holding their thumbs up at me. I rolled my eyes and turned back toward the house. It’s tilted awning dripped water from the early rain, and insects escaped from their shelter in the cracks. I took a deep breath and continued up the stairs. We hadn’t climbed that huge hill for nothing.

The wood squished under my weight. Every movement shifted the entire porch, like the foundation was built on water. I decided to quicken my pace toward the window, lest the entire thing give way and drop me into whatever abyss the structure crawled out of. 

I could hear the boys’ breaths hitch as I finally crouched down toward the foggy window. I dusted my hands off on my torn jeans and cupped them around my eyes, pressing the edges of my palms against the cold glass.

My heart continued its crescendo as I scanned the dim interior. It was a dusty living room, with a stained white recliner and small wooden table. The table was covered in small threads of…something. String? Straw? Hair…?

I heard something. Something past the hammering of blood between my ears. An animal? A voice. High pitched and screechy. 

“Do you see anything?”

Trey’s voice made me shiver, and he laughed. The pair had found the courage to follow me onto the porch, and now stood over my shoulders. I hushed them with a finger and turned my head to press my ear to the glass. I could make out words now. I repeated them in a whisper.

“So, you won’t…take a warning?” 

“What!” Oct croaked. I continued.

“Worse for you. Take care…of you…now?”

“Now? Like right —”

Trey was cut off but the sound of a hand slapping the other side of the window. We scrambled backwards, tripping over each other’s baggy jeans. I managed to catch a glimpse of long blackened nails raking the glass with sharp points before Oct fell flat on his back down the stairs. 

“Go! go!” I shouted as Trey dragged Oct to his feet. I thought I heard the door creak open behind us as I threw myself down the hill.

“She’s behind us!” Oct screamed as our sneakers struggled to find purchase on the slick grass. 

“I know! Run faster!” I called back. From there we devolved into a series of trips, drags, and more screams. 

“We’re going to die!”

“Shut up!”

“Stop?!”

“No!”

“Run!”

And run we did. We ran and ran and ran until we couldn’t see the house anymore, until we couldn’t see the street anymore. We ran until the only thing we could see was the locked door of Oct’s basement. But we ran only half as long as we laughed. We turned into howling hyenas, piled like dogs on that dull green couch. 

None of us ever returned to 51st Witch Rue. To this day, I have no idea if it was actually haunted, run by a child-eating witch, or simply a home that should’ve been condemned long ago. Sometimes, when I look out into the city, I can see it. A mirage set in the horizon of my childhood nightmare. 

It makes me laugh now. And I’m sure that day, the Witch of the 51st Rue was laughing too. 

Wild Greens: Fellowship (November 2024)

by Maggie Topel

Digital drawing

Inspiration: You have my sword... and my bow... and my axe! 

One Bob to Play Them All

after "Bob of the Rings" by Vivienne Brecher

anniversary special! from the archives of Wild Greens

by Lauren Kimball

Digital stylus


Inspiration: Vivienne wanted to imagine her favorite movie as if her stuffed pig, Bob, played all the roles. Turtle and Hare went to see it! This is her movie poster.

Fair Trade

for Ella

She hands me her secretsand I lock them away—not like a treasure,but to keep them from handswho might try to fashionthem into ill-conceived weapons.
She hands me her fears and I squeeze and pressthem between my hands,crushing them into fragmentsthat can be carried awaywith the softest breeze.
She hands me her insecurities—those lying fiends—and I put them on notice:I see you for what you are,and in time, she will too.
She hands me her dreams—tender, fragile.I feed them and whisper their potentialso they know how far they can go.These I give back to herwith a reminderof just how powerfulshe’s always been.
I hand her my faithin everything she canbe and do,and press her fingers tightaround it and tell hernever let go.

by Beth Wolfe

Cat-Pup-Cinno

by Melissa Lomax

Pencil

Inspiration: Simply put, I absolutely love the Fellowship theme. I find so much comfort in “togetherness” and delight in the idea of unlikely companions... hence this Cat-Pup-Cinno! It's an illustration that combines many things I love–cats and dogs, my favorite type of coffee, and punny word-play!

Sweet Spot

by Nilsa Mariano

“Don’t pee on my lawn,” I loudly greet you. It is not my usual salutation, but that changed after “The Incident.” It has now become our personal greeting. Just like “Don’t tell Willie,” a reference to my son, who seems to monitor my moves and miscues for signs of dementia.

This is how it started. You stopped by to thank my husband and me for the jelly we gave you, made from the wild berries on our lawn. I was bent in half, curved like a question mark, pulling stubborn weeds. This is a job I do with care since I have discovered several rare weeds are growing in the garden. On this day, I see a few unwelcome intruders, strangers dressed in green and yellow, planting roots in patches. I pull, but they resist. Not one to ever give up, we seesaw back and forth. My knuckles and muscles bunch and tense as I pull hard till suddenly, maliciously, the weed lets me go, and I hit the ground hard on my back.

A jet plane flies low across the sky, the neighbor turns his lawn mower on, a motorcycle drives by, and a loud cackle of geese fly overhead, laughing their feathers off. It seems the whole world is making noise the moment I fall, as though in celebration.

A few feet away, chatting your head off, you hear me fall, see me sprawled on the ground, and your laughter fills the garden like tinkling chimes. There is not a note of meanness. Instead, it’s the laughter of a comfortable friend, a trusting friend. You have absolutely no concern that my Brooklyn will come out and I’ll throat punch you or chase you with the hose and spray you like a wilted flower. I’m still weighing that one. Between guffaws of laughter, you ask if I am okay as I struggle to get on my feet. You continue to enjoy my fall from grace and clutch your stomach.

“Don’t pee on my lawn,” I yell, which gets my dog barking, his short snout slobbering all over the window as if warning you that this lawn was his privy potty, not yours. This sets you off even more as you hold your legs tightly together. A wise move. I clean my pants with sunflower-themed gloves soiled with dirt and grass. Then I raise my hand to give you the dirty finger: my delayed reaction to your laughter as I start to cry-laugh with you. It’s no big deal. Stuff happening is like weeds or exes; we find the humor about each every time.

I moved here a click before the pandemic and then sheltered in place, so we are relatively new neighbors. Over that time, we have eased into each other’s wiseass company. It is very hard to make new friendships as an adult, but if lucky, we meet someone who is real and open, no pretense. We both claim to be smart and beautiful, although we each know which one really is. My lipstick is redder, which I wear even when weeding, just leading by doing. Your nails are exquisitely done. Anyway, this is a new friendship for two women who, through weeds and wisdom (yes, that too), have found the sweet spot of being human.

Caring through Corona

anniversary special!

by Melissa Lomax

Digital drawing, color

Inspiration: I am such a fan of Wild Greens magazine and have also been a proud contributing artist since January 2022. It was so special to recently learn that Wild Greens originated during the pandemic, and I love that the magazine helped to unite people in such a creative way. At the very beginning of the pandemic, I wrote and illustrated this comic in hopes to share a little light with friends, family, neighbors, and my Doodle Town readers.

The Narrow Place

Again again another labyrinth too dark to mark tall sides  hard realities of history & time as Israelites stand in sand  sinking on the beach between the sea & Mitzrayim between a Pharoah's soldiers racing  urgent horses to rushing waves  how fear of any step  presses  an indenture toward the tide again arising without invitation warning  or direction at times the only light comes from above & casts no shadow no means to move no way to recognize where we stand without latitude  longitude the width and breadth of who we are and what we might be. Maps soak silent as I enter the sea making the choice to be free again  if freedom chooses mebut turn around reminded of all the others meant to be. I am unwilling to leave  anyone behind.

by Emma Goldman-Sherman

An Ancient Bond

by Angela Patera

Pen & ink

Inspiration: Wolves and ravens (the latter called "wolf birds" by various cultures) have a special symbiotic relationship many thousands of years old. These animals coexist with a certain sense of harmony and understanding.

Watching a Bird at the Window

A black redstart flies to the nook of a tree,in its beak, an insect – a winged ant;into a hollow, its cave, it stays a while, half-in half-out, then darts behind a fence.
I want to watch, stay with this bird,but the window is not low enough to sit by;a bee slips into a privet’s white flower,and petals fall; a skink rustles in leaves.

by Ion Corcos

Me & My Buddy

by Grace Clark

Watercolor, colored pencils

Inspiration: I created this illustration to show the importance of animal companionship. This self-portrait depicts me and my cat Lucy sitting in my room, alone but together. Whenever I feel the most lonely or sad, she is always there to comfort me and bring me joy, so I wanted to commemorate our "fellowship" through this image.

If you like the issue, you can donate to Wild Greens through our Ko-fi page!

Artists and Contributors

D.C. Nobes

Artist

D.C. Nobes (he/him) is a physicist, poet, and photographer who, aside from 2 years on Vancouver Island, spent his first 39 years in or near Toronto, Canada, then 23 years based in Christchurch, New Zealand, 4 years in China, and has since retired to Bali. He used to enjoy winter but admits that he doesn’t miss the snow or the cold. He thinks almost all poetry is meant to be read aloud. His poetry and art photographs have been widely published, including in Consilience Journal, Dreich, Fevers of the Mind, Heterodox Haiku, miniMAG, Moss Puppy Magazine, Paddler Press, Porch Literary Magazine, The Hooghly Review, Transients Magazine, and Whimsical Press.

Fox Rivera

Author

Fox Rivera is a black and Boricua writer originally from Schenectady, NY. She earned a BA in English at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro, where she got her first short stories published and graduated with International Honors. She strives to tell the kind of stories she and other marginalized people wished for growing up. During her downtime, she can be found writing D&D campaigns, wrestling with her cats, or skating around town.

Maggie Topel

Artist

Maggie Topel (she/her) is an artist and writer living in Philadelphia. She designs our seasonal Wild Greens logos and social media avatar.

Beth Wolfe

Poet

Beth Wolfe (she/her) is a higher education administrator and writer living in West Virginia. A native Appalachian, her go-to writing themes include feminism, chemistry, and the history of her home state. Her work has appeared in the Women of Appalachia Project, Beltway Poetry Quarterly, and They Call Us. She has also performed her poetry in multiple editions of the Women’s History Month event BodyShots at her alma mater, Marshall University. Her house is full of jazz and dog hair thanks to her husband, Jeff, and golden retriever, Basie, respectively. You can find her as @bdubs on Instagram and Threads.

Melissa Lomax

Artist

Melissa Lomax (she/her) is a freelance illustrator, writer, and cartoonist, with 20 years of experience in the creative industry. Some of her clients include American Greetings, Sellers Publishing, Great Arrow Graphics, Lenox Corporation, and Highlights for Children. Her comic 'Doodle Town' posts on GoComics.com, the largest catalog of syndicated cartoons and comics. When she is not in the art studio, she enjoys spending time in nature, drinking really good coffee, and 'everyday adventures' with her husband. Pop by her Instagram @melissalomaxart for weekly inspiration!

Nilsa Mariano

Author

Nilsa Mariano was born in Puerto Rico. She grew up in Brooklyn, New York, and has a master's in comparative literature. She has recently published in Persephone Review, 100 Words, Forevermore, and Borderless Journal. She honors the leadership and fellowship of women in her life.

Emma Goldman-Sherman

Poet

Emma Goldman-Sherman (they/them) is an award-winning playwright produced on 4 continents. "Abraham's Daughters" is available as a podcast at The Parsnip Ship. Their poetry is published or forthcoming in Gigantic Sequins, The Bangalore Review, Strange Horizons, Anti-Heroin Chic, and others. Their first flash won 3rd Prize in the 2023 Fish Anthology. Emma works as a neuro-affirming coach and teaches for the Dramatists Guild Institute. They support writers at BraveSpace.online and write about wholeness and creativity on Substack.

Angela Patera

Artist

Angela Patera is a published writer, artist, and poet. Her short stories and poems have appeared in publications such as Livina Press, Myth & Lore Zine, Rill and Grove Poetry Journal, among others. Her art has appeared in numerous publications, as well as on the cover of Selenite Press, Indie Bites Magazine, and a few more. When Angela isn't creating, she likes to spend time outside in nature.

Ion Corcos

Poet

Ion Corcos was born in Sydney, Australia in 1969. He has been published in Cordite, Meanjin, Westerly, Plumwood Mountain, Southword, Wild Court, riddlebird, and other journals. Ion is a nature lover and a supporter of animal rights. He is the author of A Spoon of Honey (Flutter Press, 2018).

Grace Clark

Artist

Grace Clark (she/her) is an artist from Pennsylvania who received her illustration degree from Arcadia University in May 2024. She focuses on creating whimsical watercolor illustrations that feature subjects of animals and nature and loves to add a touch of humor to all of her work.

Jessica Doble

Poetry Editor

Jessica Doble (she/her) holds a PhD in English from the University of Louisiana at Lafayette. She's published two critical works: “Hope in the Apocalypse: Narrative Perspective as Negotiation of Structural Crises in Salvage the Bones” in Xavier Review, and “Two-Sides of the Same Witchy Coin: Re-examining Belief in Witches through Jeannette Winterson’s The Daylight Gate” in All About Monsters. Her poetry has appeared in PubLab and Wild Greens magazine. 

Myra Chappius

Poetry Editor and Copyeditor

Myra Chappius (she/her) is the author of six works of fiction and poetry. While her passion lies with shorter creations, it is her aspiration to complete a full-length novel and screenplay someday. She enjoys reading, running, cinema, music, and seeing the world. When not doing mom things, she is working full-time, learning a new language, and planning her next trip. 

You can follow Myra on Instagram at @inwordform. Her work can be purchased on Amazon.

Tim Brey

Music Editor

Tim Brey (he/him) is a jazz pianist living in Philadelphia. He holds positions as Artist-in-Residence and Adjunct Faculty at Temple University and The University of the Arts, where he teaches jazz piano, music theory, and improvisation. Check out more of his music and his performance schedule at https://www.timbreymusic.com.

Jacqueline Ruvalcaba

Senior Editor

Jacqueline (she/her) edits fiction and nonfiction as the senior editor for Wild Greens magazine. She earned her BA in English and creative writing at the University of California, Riverside, and completed training as a 2021 publishing fellow with the Los Angeles Review of Books. She previously served as a co-editor for PubLab, editor for UCR's Mosaic Art and Literary Journal, and as an intern with Soho Press. In her free time, she loves to read all kinds of stories, including YA, literary fiction, sci-fi, and fantasy.

Hayley Boyle

Arts Editor

Hayley (she/her) creates the cover image for every issue of Wild Greens and serves as the Arts Editor. Hayley is a social justice seeker, world traveler, rock climber, dog snuggler, frisbee player, event planner, and storyteller. She loves to paint with watercolors, embroider, and write. She grew up reading sci-fi and fantasy, and, to this day, she still turns to those genres to help her make sense of the world. She calls Philadelphia home where she lives with her husband Evan and dog Birdie, and she wouldn't have it any other way. You can find Hayley on Instagram @hayley3390.

Rebecca Lipperini

Editor-in-chief

Rebecca Lipperini (she/her) is a writer, teacher, and academic living in Philadelphia, and the founding editor of Wild Greens magazine. She holds a PhD in English from Rutgers University, where she taught all kinds of classes on literature and poetry and writing, and wrote all kinds of papers on the same. Her essay on the soothing aesthetics of the supermarket was recently published in PubLab. She teaches in the Critical Writing Program at the University of Pennsylvania.

You can find Rebecca on Instagram @rebeccalipperini (personal) @wildgreensmag (you already know it).