Contributors’ Notes
By: David A. Goodrum
Aunt Who Lived with Us and followed my older sister around the house re-cleaning what had just been cleaned; and said to me, You will never drive my car as long as I’m alive. I ended up owning that Chevy Malibu for well over a decade.
Aunt Visiting from Ohio who towered over me as on a balance beam with praises for older siblings, then somersaults, sticking the landing, declaring, But we’re worried about you.
Brother of Holy Cross who taught high school science and coached me out of my southern Indiana hard r’s.
Heavy-Drinking Professor who was forced out of academia, untenured, and successfully switched to real estate, which is almost like poetry, which is all about locution, locution, locution; too early perishing rather than publishing.
High School Phys Ed Teacher and Recent Marine Sergeant who screamed into my ear, I DON’T LIKE YOUR KIND, YOU ASK TOO MANY QUESTIONS!
High School Religious Instructor giving me a ride home after school, saving me from a downpour, then handing me a wooden peace medal from a collection in his glove compartment as A gift from a friend, and my sudden cold sweat telling me to never see him again.
High School Yearbook Advisor who taught me the secrets of giving a dinner party… provide all the guests individual choices, such as Would you like one or two cherry tomatoes on your salad, finishing with I always have three. I threw up the food and alcoholic drinks on my girlfriend’s driveway just as I arrived to bring her home well after curfew.
Middle Older Brother whom I imitated with writing, photography and music; still, he did torment me when I was little and told me there was no Santa Claus. My retort: But there’s still the Easter Bunny.
Middle School Nuns, one who hit me over the head with a textbook for talking, and took away my paperback copy of Rosemary’s Baby. And another nun who failed me for the day’s art period for coloring outside the lines and making the sky green and the grass blue.
Mother who thought all I did was argue and alternated between telling me, You are just like your uncle Gil and You should become a lawyer, that last word always landing like spit on the floor.
Poet Friend who had published scores of books with multiple nominations, with secure positions at universities, telling me they were truly lucky it had worked out, because there was absolutely nothing else they were the least bit good at.
Reviewer who found my poems Interesting, but not quite stimulating or memorable enough.
David A. Goodrum is a writer and photographer living in Corvallis, Oregon. His poems are forthcoming or have been published in Spill-way, Star 82 Review, The Write Launch, The Closed Eye Open, Fireweed: Poetry of Oregon, The Louisville Review, and other journals. Additional work (both poetry and photography) can be viewed at