The Person We Think We See

Published on July 2, 2026June 30, 2026 by diannePLeave a comment

One of poetry’s great strengths is its ability to capture a moment of recognition.

Or, in some cases, a moment of misrecognition.

Toni Artuso’s “To the Woman Waiting on the Train Station Platform” begins with observation. The speaker notices a woman dressed in striking over-the-knee boots, a miniskirt, and a dark jacket. The details are vivid. The woman commands attention. She appears confident, glamorous, and perhaps a little intimidating.

Like the speaker, readers begin constructing a story.

Who is she?

Where is she going?

What kind of person dresses like this on a cold day?

The poem invites us to ask these questions while quietly reminding us that we don’t actually know the answers.

What follows is a wonderful example of how poetry can examine the assumptions we make about strangers. We see someone for a few moments and immediately begin filling in the blanks. Clothing becomes personality. Posture becomes character. Appearance becomes identity.

Then comes the turn.

The woman looks back.

Suddenly, the speaker notices traces of adolescent acne beneath carefully applied makeup. It is a small detail, but it changes everything. The glamorous stranger becomes a human being with a history. The mystery remains, but the distance narrows.

What I admire about the poem is its restraint. It never tells us what to think about the woman. It simply shows us how quickly we create stories about people we do not know and how easily those stories can be disrupted by a single unexpected detail.

In only a few lines, Artuso moves from attraction and curiosity to something deeper: empathy.

The poem also feels particularly well suited to its author. Toni Artuso is an emerging, and as she humorously describes herself, “aging” trans writer from Salem, Massachusetts. Her work has appeared in numerous publications, including The Christian Science Monitor, The Ekphrastic Review, Salamander, and Honeyguide Literary Magazine, which nominated one of her villanelles for both a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net.

Reading this poem, I found myself thinking about how often we mistake appearance for understanding. We notice what is visible and assume we know the rest. Yet every person carries experiences, struggles, triumphs, and insecurities that remain hidden from view.

The woman on the platform remains largely unknown to us. That is precisely why the poem succeeds. Artuso allows her to remain a stranger while reminding us that strangers are always more complicated than the stories we tell ourselves about them.

Long after I finished reading the poem, I found myself returning to that final image. Not because it answers the mystery of who the woman is, but because it reminds us how much of every human being remains unseen.

Have you ever imagined the life of a stranger?

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And the Winner Is…..

Published on May 25, 2026May 21, 2026 by virginiawatts2 Comments

Yes, poetry collections win Pulitzer Prizes too. The 2025 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry has been awarded to Marie Howe’s New and Selected Poems. Howe is known for her observations of everyday life. She explores themes of contemporary womanhood, personal loss, human miracles, sorrow and joy. There are 111 poems in the winning collection. Howe’s direct and honest voice is her trademark. She’s a poet of our time who should not be missed. Some of her most well-known poems involve the loss of her brother in 1989 who died of AIDS-related illnesses. This is what drew me personally to her work many years ago, because I lost a brother about the same time in the same way. Here is one of her poems about this terrible sadness.

What the Living Do

Marie Howe

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won’t work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven’t called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It’s winter again: the sky’s a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through

the open living-room windows because the heat’s on too high in here and I can’t turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,

I’ve been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss—we want more and more and then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I’m gripped by a cherishing so deep

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I’m speechless:
I am living. I remember you.

I thought it might be fun to revisit the winner of the first Pulitzer Prize for Poetry. That poet’s name was Edwin Arlington Robinson, and he won the prize two more times after being the first winner. He was known for his narrative skill and psychological depth. Here is what is considered by many to be his most famous poem. It seems a long time ago when he was writing poetry, yet when you read this poem in particular, it seems that he could be writing this poem today. This is because all poetry is about one very complicated subject: humanity.

Richard Cory
Edwin Arlington Robinson

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,

We people on the pavement looked at him:

He was a gentleman from sole to crown,

Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,

And he was always human when he talked;

But still he fluttered pulses when he said,

“Good-morning,” and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich—yes, richer than a king—

And admirably schooled in every grace:

In fine, we thought that he was everything

To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,

And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;

And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,

Went home and put a bullet through his head.

Virginia Watts is the author of poetry and stories found in The MacGuffin, Epiphany, CRAFT, The Florida Review, Reed Magazine, Pithead Chapel, Eclectica Magazine among others. She has been nominated four times for a Pushcart Prize. Her debut short story collection Echoes from the Hocker House was short listed for 2024 Eric Hoffer Grand Prize, selected as one of the Best Indie Books of 2023 by Kirkus Book Reviews, and won third place in the 2024 Feathered Quill Book Awards. Please visit her.

Virginia’s new book is now available from Old Scratch Press:

Her prior poetry chapbooks Shot Full of Holes and The Werewolves of Elk Creek

are available from Moonstone Press. And her debut short story collection Echoes from the Hocker House is not to be missed!

Jonah’s Map of the Whale and Other Poems, by Old Scratch Press member Anthony Doyle, is a 2026 Eric Hoffer Book Award Category Finalist.

Published on May 21, 2026May 21, 2026 by anthonyddoyle2 Comments

Jonah’s Map of the Whale and Other Poems, by Old Scratch Press member Anthony Doyle, is a 2026 Eric Hoffer Book Award Category Finalist.

Jonah is my first volume of poetry, so it was especially gratifying to look at the list of Category Finalists posted to the Hoffer Award website and see it there in all its glory. Just as parents can instantly spot their own kids in a crowded park full of other children not objectively dissimilar to their own in any real way, my eyes were instantly drawn to that familiar sequence of words: Jonah’s Map of the Whale. Next, of course, I checked my name—you know, just in case there was another Jonah’s Map of the Whale by some not-Anthony—, and then, certified that it was indeed my Jonah, I smiled at the sight of three little words that have come to mean a lot to me: Old Scratch Press.

I am in the process of completing my second volume of poetry, so “Jonah” seems at times like a distant country I once used to live in and hope to return to someday. So I went back to a review poet and critic Billie Mills so kindly wrote about it when it came out last year, just to see it through someone else’s eyes before writing anything about it. The book consists of three sections, each devoted to a different “persona”, which Mills described as “nearer to archetypes than individuals, carrying something of a mythical nature […] narratives, fables, romances, but never anecdotes.” It’s a good description, but that does not mean the book is non- (or im-)personal, because that narrative, mythical, fable-like quality is perhaps the most any of us can aspire to in our best (and worst) moments.

I have a thing about threes, perhaps because three was the last number I can say I ever managed to understand. I get three. I can feel three. Anything from four to the Googolplexian, and I’ll just have to take your word for it. But threes work; threes make sense. So this book, naturally, has three sections.

The first of these is a group of poems about a fictional character named Flounder, sometimes presented as a young man with mental health and addiction issues, other times as a flatfish on the floor of the Irish Sea. So when he’s not a floundering human, he’s a very human flounder, and what tips him one way or the other is how deep he sinks into his overactive, intrusive unconscious self.

The second character, Blundra, is everything Flounder is not. The world likes Blundra, and Blundra knows how to make it give her what she wants. The problem is, what she really, really wants is something this world cannot give. Constantly on the verge of an epiphany that never quite comes, she experiences a frustration that is also a sort of longing. This revelation-in-the-making whispers to her from afar in the form of her dead grandmother’s voice.

The third section of the book, the title poem, is a turn-of-the-21st-century rereading of the Jonah story, and it shares an origin with my speculative novel Hibernaculum (2024 Next Generation Indie Book Awards Science Fiction Category Finalist).

Jonah and Hibernaculum are kindred works, as they were both initially parts of a literary triptych called Three Jonahs. The third panel was the as-yet-unpublished Jestor.

I scrapped the triptych idea when Hibernaculum and Jestor turned into full-length, standalone novels, and “Jonah’s Map of the Whale” found a new home alongside “Blundra” and “Flounder”.

Although the triptych was disbanded in practice, it remains very much together in spirit. There is a Jonah and a whale in each of these works. Jonahs fleeing their own private Ninevehs, whales catching them halfway between one Joppa and another Tarshish. The whale can be a person or entity (Jestor), a process (human hibernation), or it can even be oneself and one’s past, as in “Jonah’s Map of the Whale”.

Personally and collectively, we’re constantly fleeing and being dragged back. It’s part of the cycle of existence. The Jonah tale is pure dialectic (thesis, antithesis, synthesis…repeat), and so is history, so is an individual life.

So what sort of cartography is this “map”? In the book, it’s a two-track reverse chronology: the misadventures of Alex Iden Grey, on one hand, and the turn of the 21st century, on the other. Wrong turns, missed opportunities, and ignored warnings, all seen in retrospect and laid out as cautionary tales. And what is a cautionary tale if not a map in negative, a map that says “the guy who went this way got swallowed by a whale.”

A simple map, really… in hindsight.

That’s what the book is about. It took a long time to write (dewrite, rewrite, repeat…) and now it is what it is, no take-backs, no changes.

And with a cute little golden seal on the cover.

Thank you, Eric Hoffer!

Anthony Doyle

Born in Dublin and raised in Wicklow Town, Anthony Doyle holds a joint honours degree in English and Philosophy and a master’s degree in Philosophy from University College Dublin, Ireland.

He moved to São Paulo, Brazil, in 1999, where he works as a translator from Portuguese to English.

He writes poetry and fiction for adults, teens and children.