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

Kindred Spirit

by D.C. Nobes

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. 

Fair Trade

for Ella

by Beth Wolfe

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.

The Narrow Place

by Emma Goldman-Sherman

Watching a Bird at the Window

by Ion Corcos