Winning Entries!

Magnolia Quarterly

Summer Contest 2010

First Place

 

Venice By Night

Bachman, Kara – Diamondhead, MS

 

First thing you see is the water:

moonlight splashing, flashing, dancing

on the darkened lagoon.

 

By night the vendors and nuns have retired,

have left nothing but stale scents in the air,

and love,

and their stereotypical shadows.

 

The last drowsy vacationers lean back

in the night's final water ride.

Blindly, the accordionist rocks to the hiss and suck and whine

of the musical squeezebox crafted by his father's hands.

 

The gondolier, charming for tips,

twists his skinny moustache as he sings.

He winds his tiny thoughts around his head

as if they formed his lightweight straw hat brim.

 

The tourists, lulled like babes in his wooden cradle,

loll back and forth in the moonlight

and miss what waits around the bend.

 

Second Place

Pedal to the Metal

Mary Ann Sharp - Bush, LA

Standing in line for the Bumper Car ride at Dollywood, I watched a young girl struggle to free her ensnared car from a horde of overly enthusiastic drivers. I would be so embarrassed, I thought. This was the exact reason I'd never been courageous enough to attempt such an endeavor.

"You do know that you're going to have to drive one . . . don't you?" My husband Ray's words jarred me out of my daydream and right into a state of bewilderment as we approached the entrance. In all of my fifty-plus years, driving a Bumper Car had never been a part of my wildest dreams! What was I thinking? Of course I knew our five year old granddaughters; Sadie and Sarah, couldn't ride alone and the three of them wouldn't fit into one car.

Trying to hide my lack of self-confidence in this humongous venture, I stepped into the car and settled in with Sadie by my side. I looked down at my little Cupcake, and she looked up at me with those big blue eyes of hers and said, "Maw-maw, just put your foot on the pedal and go." I obligingly followed her instructions.

Conquering a loose steering wheel, I avoided Ray and Sarah's attack, then fishtailed around several squatters and sped round and round the track – laughing and screaming all the way. I must confess . . . it was without a doubt the most fun I'd ever had.

Third Place

 

Detour at Carolina Beach

Finnegan, Brenda – Ocean Springs, MS

 

Forty-five years later,

we tried to help Mother find the house;

which, in the summer of ’41,

was one of twenty or so clapboard beach rentals

just feet from the lapping Atlantic;

now, one of hundreds crammed two deep

both on the beach and street sides.

 

Without Daddy to jog her memory

(a carpenter would have remembered),

she squinted at each old porch we passed,

looking for the “Chatter Box” sign

and the double windows,

shedding her shoes to  allow her

sixty-seven year old legs to walk faster.

 

Her grandsons, bored with this game,

tumbled into the foaming surf in their shorts,

and while my sister kept a mother’s eye on them,

we went ahead, searching in the dusky afternoon.

 

Squeaking our toes in the warm sand,

we walked as far as she could recall,

till the old homes no longer squatted

between the looming newer condos.

 

“They used to tell us to watch for German subs,”

she said, bringing the past back

in a startling way.

 

Walking back to the car, we picked up shells

as souvenirs, then at her request,

I took a shot of her, sandals in hand,

in front of one of the cabins

with my empty camera,

not having the heart to confess

I was out of film.

 

 

Honorable Mention

Family Vacations

Ruben Quero – Diamondhead, MS

"Come on son." Gramps always calls me "son." "Let's go fishing."

When no one is around, my dad and I call each other "Kiddo." It's a bonding thing, namely.

With Gramps, it's a lisp thing. The impediment prevents him from properly enunciating my name.

What's my name? I am "Newtownmountkennedy." Yep, that's right. I was named after a village in Wicklow, Ireland. My parents were vacationing there when I was conceived.

My mother's name isn't any better. Her parents met while vacationing in Castelrotto, a medieval town in Northern Italy, situated along the Alps. They were both staying at the Hotel Cavallino d'Oro. d'Oro means "of gold." Nine months later they named their baby Cavallina d'oro. She's called "Goldie," for short. I call her Mom.

Last summer, I vacationed with my grandparents, while my parents were vacationing in Vestmannaeyjar, located in Southern Iceland. It was their second honeymoon. We all know what that means.

"I hate to think of what they'll name your little brother,” Gramps complained, "Can't people vacation in easy to say places anymore?"

Anyway, we went fishing every morning and every morning the "big" one, in the river that flows behind their vacation home, got away.

Gramps went out and bought some 100 pound test line. He promised, "We'll get him this time."

"Out-smarted by "shouldhaveseendaonedatgotaway?" Grandma asked, mockingly naming the elusive fish.

I finally caught that monster catfish. It weighed exactly 11 pounds. It was the highlight of my vacation, along the Tchoutacabouffa, in Mississippi.

Honorable Mention

Vacation at Camp Chattahoochee

Tom Lynn – Lawrenceville, GA

Without a TV or electric lamp

I spent my vacation

At survivorship camp,

Swimming, rappelling,

And crawling through briars

While eating wild berries

And avoiding campfires.

Oh, what is so rare

As a day in June?

Nothing, compared to a hike

By the moon.

And where are the spirits

Of Indian Lake?

Dining, no doubt,

On venison steak.

But I have to be strong,

Be macho and brave,

Forsaking delights

To which I was slave,

Like sleeping on featherbeds

Most every night

And wearing PJs

Without fear or fright.

These are the rigors

Of being a man;

Passing the same tests

Since time began.

But for once I would rather

Be like little Jerome

And call for my mommy

To come take me home.

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