Featured Poet: April Ridge

Hello and welcome to another Feature Friday! Today is the lovely April Ridge! April is a wonderful person with an infectious energy, I love how upbeat she always is, and the way she’s genuinely happy to see you.

April has had work featured in numerous publications, released a mini chapbook Up All Night for The Last Imsomniacathon, and her debut release, a chapbook through Pure Sleeze Press, called Monstrous, comes out in just a couple weeks!

Check out a small selection of her incredible work, below

The Age of Luck 

What I wouldn't give 
for the knees of a 20 year old,
the mind of a 70 year old,
and the heart of a newborn baby. 

A Frankensteined masterpiece of understanding and openness 
who can still go 
up and down those stairs 
in the apartment 
like a champ. 

I think it's natural to yearn
for facets of our former selves
and what we suspect our future selves to be . 

Life is full of a whispering mysticism. 

Surrender. 

Place a mirror up against 
your self image and compare:
is the damage that you feel visible, 
or can it be that 
what you've been sensing
this whole time is 
a trait we all share? 

The broken night,
the rush of time gone by
so effortlessly,
the accumulated aches,
wrinkles, small humorisms
tracing a well-worn face...
the universal mind fuck of aging,
it comes for us all
if we're lucky.

If You Smiled

AKA

Is This 3 AM Message From A Guy Friend Potentially A Dick Pic?

Scan the gas station parking lot --

Which is the safest man to fuel up next to?

Don't park in the dark part of the parking lot.

Don't give that guy 

a ride home 

without 

anyone else in the car.

90% chance for unwanted romance.

A little struggle and dance 

with the seat belt

as you try to get out 

as fast as possible.

Yelling for him 

to get the fuck out of your car 

because suddenly 

he decides to take it too far

and show himself naked, undesirable 

before you've even thought 

about shaking his hand.

Make sure 

someone always knows 

where you are.

Make sure that you always lock the car.

Always 

check the hatchback 

and the back seats 

and the floors 

before you get in.

You don't want to 

turn into 

just another statistic.

The helpless victim 

of a system 

that won't help you.

Don't sit in your car 

looking at your phone 

in the dark 

before or after work.

Don't be the only employee 

with one female customer 

in a neighborhood bar.

You could be in danger 

of having that one walk-in stranger

who says "You wouldn't make it to dialing 9-1...."

Don't crash on the couch 

at a stranger's party 

just for a few hours 

of sleep before stumbling home.

Surely you are to wake up 

with a stranger’s cold hand 

inside your shirt or 

down the front of your pants. 

Whiskey breath panting 

down your prickling neck 

as you try to slink away, 

hoping they are more fucked up

than you are and you can 

somehow escape unscathed.

How many times 

the assumption of safety 

has betrayed.

But, no, never again. 

I don't live that kind of life any more.

I don't have those kinds of friends.

Be sure to always walk 

with your cold keys' jagged edges out 

splayed between 

the knuckles of your shaky hands 

as you walk to your car 

looking for 

moving 

shadows 

always.

Don't ever leave the house wearing sandals.

You can't run from danger in sandals.

Walking back from the party in your 20s--

this lesson was only once needed to be learned.

The ground 

never failing to catch you 

when you fall:

running from someone walking 

too close to you 

in the dark 

on the way home 

after too many drinks 

in a town full of ladies 

walking around in the dark 

after too many drinks.

You stumble, 

nearly disappearing 

in late fall dusky shadows.

But he catches up to you.

Just to let you know 

you dropped your scarf

and you’re so pretty 

and you'd be 

so much prettier 

if you smiled.

A Flash of Joy in October

He says it's cold outside,

you should start your car early this morning.

There are few things more pleasant

than when the temperature drops below forty 

those first few fall mornings.

This has struck me in particular

the last three or four years 

since the mornings have become so hot.

Perimenopausal Fall 

is the best time of all 

when your mornings are 

full of sweaty faces.

Trying to find a shirt 

that doesn't touch your armpits

Trying to find pants that 

don't make you feel 

like they're constantly on fire and

needing to be removed.

Trying to find 

a way to do your hair 

so that it doesn't stick to your face all day 

in the intermittent moments—

when you break into a sweat for no reason,

when you have a mildly warm cup of tea 

or your soup for lunch 

or you walk down the hall too fast.

Life in your 40s as a woman 

tends to lend moments 

of contemplation 

about the temperature of things,

about how you need to 

rearrange the moments in your life 

to find the cool spots.

That burst of enjoyment 

you used to crave in your youth is

now replaced by the wish for a deep freezer

you could lay in 

just 

for a few moments 

of peace.

That worried about 

how you look 

NEVER 

goes away,

but it is somewhat replaced by 

the need to worry 

about how much you are sweating and 

how red your face is.

How crazed your expression 

when you ask someone 

to open a window, 

to turn the air on in February.

Perhaps you have an extra fan?

About fifteen years ago

my mom 

started keeping a blow dryer 

on both floors of her house

and now I understand.

She Merely Nodded When I said 'Good Morning'

The sky has tattered wings 

this morning.

The orange dreamsicle

cotton candy variety

that 

April Ridge lurks in the rural hilltops of Monroe County, akin to Mothman’s tomboy cousin, listening for hints of poetry on the wind. She enjoys horror films, the sordid affairs of 1920s circus performers, long walks in pitch black tunnels, and the occasional waffle cone from Jiffy Treet.

April serves as the chair of the Writers Guild at Bloomington and is a poet and spoken word performer at heart, but she makes room in her diet for spooky movies and has a quiet obsession for all of the Universal Monsters, specifically Bride of Frankenstein.

Her debut chapbook, Monstrous by Pure Sleeze Press, was released unto an unsuspecting public in September 2024 and can be seen in glimpses in the periphery of the mind’s eye. Her work has appeared sporadically in deep space, circling black holes until the dinner bell of eternal fame rings in its echoing chambers.