The eighteenth annual Goose River Anthology, 2020 is a fine collection of the best poetry, fiction, and essays submitted to us from all parts of the United States. There are over 80 talented authors represented in this volume. Many are seasoned writers while some are being published for the first time. Don't miss your chance to experience this rare treasure.




Deborah J. Benner has been in the publishing industry since 1985 and created Goose River Press in 1999. The first Goose River Anthology was published in 2003. Goose River Press publishes a wide array of genres including but not limited to: poetry, short stories, novels, children's books, cookbooks, workbooks, anthologies, and more.


Sampling by Judy Driscoll Winchenbaugh
Rockland, ME


My Story




Here I am, a lonely Boston Rocker in the corner of Coastal Antiques, my home for too many years. I'm dusty, now home to cobwebs and spiders. But once I was grand, so grand, built with love by my master carpenter. Each piece of me cut with care by hand, sanded so carefully (ooh, that felt good) to smooth my bumps. He built me slowly, taking the time to make sure I would last for generations, to bring comfort and reassurance to many.
The carpenter's wife rocked with her babe, comforting his tears, my gentle rhythm lulling him to sleep. As he grew and learned to walk and run, we would comfort the bumps and bruises of a toddler. Then I sat in the corner of his room, forgotten except for the stuffed animals he piled in my seat. But when he became a teenager his mother dusted me off and together we waited for him, sometimes past his curfew. The teenager became a man and moved into his own house.
The carpenter and his wife grew old while I stayed in the empty bedroom of the boy. When the carpenter got sick, his wife brought me out, put me beside his bed. I tried to comfort her while she held his hand as we rocked. After he was gone, I wanted to wrap my arms around her when her tears fell on my wood that he had so carefully stained all those years ago. His wife and I spent many a lonely night each lost in memories of our carpenter.
The boy came back to visit all grown up now, a man, with a wife and a baby. Such joy to see his young family and help his wife comfort their baby. It brought back so many memories of when I was young, before my wood started to creak. When the grown boy and his family went home, my carpenter's wife and I were once again alone. Keeping each other company in the too quiet house.
Sometimes our house would fill with laughter when my boy and his family came to visit. His kids climbing all over me, squeezing into my seat together, and rocking me so hard I thought I might break, but listening to their giggles made me feel young again.
When they all went back to their house, my carpenter's wife and I went back to our routine. We rocked each evening to the news, her shows. Until one evening the rocking stopped. The boy came back, rocked with me. Both of us remembering his mother's touch. I miss my carpenter's wife.
Later the boy took me back to his house. His sons climbed on me, but I was too old, I started to break. One day the boy put me in his truck, brought me to a shop. I saw tears in his eyes when he left me there. The store owner took me to his workshop and gave me new nails, new stain. I've been siting here ever since, dust settling, cobwebs forming. Will I ever get a new family? Shh listen, I hear a little boy,
"Momma, look, a rocking chair for my stuffed animals. Please?"
Please.