About thehuronriverreview

I am editor/faculty advisor of The Huron River Review.

Steve Nickman: “What My Father Built”

What My Father Built

A nine-plank bridge,
a waterfall for boasting
bullfrogs, irises by the lake,
thrushes’ song.

At sunset he’d clear the table.
Once my mother said Perhaps
Herr Doktor might consider
doing the same at home.

Quiet, he left the cottage
down stone steps to the limestone
rock like a surfacing submarine
lapped by fishing boats’ wake.

He stood on his private
island, gazed into
lowering western sun,
gazed away from us.

I stood unseen
behind him just yards away,
troubled by his sulk,
his not wanting to be seen.


Steve Nickman lives in Brookline, Massachusetts and takes part in Poemworks: The Workshop for Publishing Poets. He is a psychiatrist and works mainly with kids, teenagers, and young adults. He has a strong interest in the experiences and dilemmas of adoptees and their families, and is working on a book about therapy, The Wound and the Spark. Steve’s poetry is forthcoming or has recently appeared in Nimrod, Summerset Review, Tar River, Tule Review, and JuxtaProse.


Tara L. Carnes: “Henna Hands”

Henna Hands

 still my profile pic

our arms outstretched

curling flowers and beautiful designs


 after the henna dried in the weak sun

we celebrated Holi

busts of color splattered everywhere

puffs of pink, yellow, blue and orange rose up

as we danced and welcomed Spring


Tara L. Carnes

Photograph by the author


Tara L. Carnes is a musician, composer, poet, teacher, and spiritual director. She is a graduate of the University of North Texas (M.A.) and the Haden Institute’s program in spiritual direction. Tara’s poetry has appeared in Voices de la Luna, The Rose in the World, Illya’s Honey, SageWoman Magazine, Cholla Needles Magazine, and Presence Journal. She lives in Houston, TX.

Darren C. Demaree: “City Deer #52”

City Deer #52

it’s sweet it’s lovely how cold how decisive the mud that holds our prints until there is new mud there is always new mud but when i dance in our backyard where the deer have danced where the rabbits have taunted our dogs it feels like i am the target of all the rain i know nothing of actual blessings but this could be what all the people at mother’s church are talking about


Darren C. Demaree‘s poems have appeared, or are scheduled to appear in numerous magazines/journals, including Hotel Amerika, Diode, Meridian, New Letters, Diagram, and the Colorado Review. He is the author of eight poetry collections, most recently ”Two Towns Over’ (March 2018), which was selected as the winner of the Louise Bogan Award by Trio House Press. He is the Managing Editor of the Best of the Net Anthology and Ovenbird Poetry and is currently living and writing in Columbus, Ohio, with his wife and children. 


Maisie Houghton: “The moon came too”

The moon came too

To our daughter’s fiftieth birthday,
a party my son and I
had plotted, pieced and pruned so long,
all to appear an artless, airy evening-
merely a supper at the Sea Cottage,
on the porch, by the water.
But it worked. Who was more surprised?
Nina with her heart-stopping gladness
or me with my so-called effortless effort?
Long thin tables borrowed from the Islesboro school
draped in odd saris, my mother’s
faded checkerboard cloths.
Flowers in borrowed vases,
briar-thorn roses, buds of new-green garlic.
The guests all friends from childhood–
girls now lushmotherly
the guys bluff blowhard bearded.
My son recites from Yeats–a family favorite:
We must dance and we must sing
We are blest by everything.
The pale moon another surprise,
hesitating over the violet bay.


Maisie Houghton grew up in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and graduated from Radcliffe College in 1962. She published her memoir, Pitch Uncertain, in 2011 (Tidepool Press). Her poems have appeared in Common Ground Review, Paper Nautilus, Avalon Literary Review, The Café Review, and Third Wednesday. She currently resides with her husband in Boston, MA.

Mark Antony Rossi: “Vienna”

Vienna (From Vogue)

I skipped my visit to Vienna
Upon learning a Nazi
Its current government.
I joined the boycott
I wrote a poem
I watched Austria
From the pages
Of Vogue
And spent
My marks
On a German girl.


Mark Antony Rossi‘s poetry, criticism, fiction, creative nonfiction and photography have appeared in The Antigonish Review, Anak Sastra, Bareback Magazine, Black Heart Review, Brain of Forgetting, Deep Water Literary Journal, Dirty Chai, Enclave, Expound, Farther Stars Than, Flash Fiction, Gravel, Indian Periodical, Japanophile, Journal of MicroliteratureKulchur Creative Journal, Mad Swirl, On The Rusk, Purple Patch, Scrivener Creative Review, Sentiment Literary Journal, Snapdragon, Syzygy Poetry Journal, The Sacrificial, Toad Suck Review, Transnational, Vine Leaves Literary Journal, Wild Quarterly, and Yellow Chair Review. He is the Editor in Chief, Ariel Chart

Theodore Worozbyt: “Glass”


With my pinky finger bleeding, Russia disappears, just as expected. It isn’t bad. I take out my little black notebook that I keep on my person to record observations. I rub my knuckle on the slide and slip on a cover. I dot myself with India ink. It spreads through my eyes. “A million, million million, million million million cells,” is what I read and then climb onto the white-graveled roof to watch the eclipse through a shoebox. It does not arrive like a liquid dart piercing the closer sky and inverting its imago on foil glued to the rear. It does not arrive. I stare through the lunar windows instead, into a kitchen where a black and white television plays and no one is cooking. Life, on those other planets in the book the faceless European lady gave to me, might be possible. Brownian motion is what makes the soul afraid of itself. It’s hard to go on much further from here.


Theodore Worozbyt has published three books, The Dauber Wings (Dream Horse Press, 2006) and Letters of Transit, winner of the Juniper Prize (The University of Massachusetts Press, 2008), and Smaller Than Death (Knut House Press, 2015). The City of Leaving and Forgetting, his most recent chapbook, appears in Country Music.

Michael H. Brownstein: “Cold”

I wake senile this morning
enable to remember if my wife’s name
belongs to a woman or a man.
Outside, flesh shivers and I
flicker in and out inside surrounded
by a flurry of dogs awake and asleep,
growling and mute. You cannot brake
a breath-thought or destroy
an oxygen-dysfunction.
The dogs burrow themselves
under blankets and I try to recall
something I knew yesterday,
the day before yesterday,
a yesterday a week ago,
but not now, not in this stretching moment,
this thin brain-pause,
this advocate of a life-inadequacy.


Michael H. Brownstein has nine poetry chapbooks including A Period of Trees (Snark Press, 2004), Firestorm: A Rendering of Torah (Camel Saloon Press, 2012), The Possibility of Sky and Hell: From My Suicide Book (White Knuckle Press, 2013) and The Katy Trail, Mid-Missouri, 100 Degrees Outside and Other Poems (Kind of Hurricane Press, 2013). He is the editor of First Poems from Viet Nam (2011).