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We're quite happy to have 3 new book releases, coming Oct. 1st. Each title is now available for pre-order, follow the links.

Winner of the Gival Press Poetry Award

by Kate Monaghan

Disputed Site

"A thought-stirring, rich collection from an erudite writer."

—Kirkus Reviews

Disputed Site (

Architects of the Imaginary / Los arquitectos de lo imaginario

by Marta López-Luaces / translation by G.J. Racz

". . . a book that alerts us to poetry’s subversive power and the potential writing has to interrogate us."—Eugenia Straccali, author of Medusa

Architects of the Imaginary / Los arquitectos del imaginario (

Speaking Out: Families of LGBTQ+ Advance the Dialogue

ed. by Esther Schwartz-McKinzie

"... this book collects the journeys of both LGBTQ+ people and parents of LGBTQ+ people who share the challenges they faced and offer candid insight into their growth over time. These stories emphasize how LGBTQ+ youth deserve our very best, which includes listening and responding in ways that are genuinely thoughtful, sincere, and loving." —Cathy Renna, Director of Communications, National LGBTQ Task Force

Speaking Out: Families of LGBTQ+ Advance the Dialogue (


Gival Press, whose publisher has long ties to Spain, New Spain/Mexico and Texas via the language and cultural traditions running through the Greater Southwest since 1598, celebrates the rich cultural heritage.

Look for the title Architects of the Imaginary / Aquitectos de lo imaginario by Marta López-Luaces, with English translation by G. J. Racz, which will be released on October 1, 2023.

Other titles with cultural ties previously released by Gival Press include:

Canciones para una sola cuerda / Songs for a Single String by Jesús Gardea, with English translation by Robert L. Giron.

Meteor by C. M. Mayo.

Psaltery and Serpentines by Cecilia Marínez-Gil.

Boys, Lost and Found by Charles Casillo.

Dead Time / Tiempo muerto by Carlos Rubio.

Dream of Another America by Tyler McMahon.

Dreams and Other Ailments / Sueños y otros achaques by Teresa Bevin.

Julia & Rodrigo by Mark Brazaitis.

Secret Memories / Recuerdos secretos by Carlos Rubio.

Tina Spring into Summer / Tina se lanza al verano by Teresa Bevin.


Vowelish Palares

When we slogged, by air and car,

into that moss and drizzle

from four uneven corners of the map

to convene and wield our age-old argot,

to laugh and sit amongst and caress

the one of we who needed it now the most—

when, waiting in the waiting rooms

of crowded breakfast bars

or ensconced in magazine-ready parlors—

the regular, piped-in divas

filling corners plumb of the room—

a samovar of coffee seeming to resist;

the lost surname of a long-ago roommate

struggling to be heard;

our stories of heart-broken sisters,

and well-and-mal-and-well-adjusted daughters—

over the aromas of sunshine salads,

and mashed potatoes, raspberries,

and shortbread in shapes of famous men;

amid moments of harsh weedy cigarettes

and martinis spilled on bedclothes—

myths of Ezra Pound’s sofa

and the fur throws of early men;

Feydeau’s take on Ted and Alice,

ours on Carol and Bob—

the proud and the prejudiced;

the docent’s life at Tough Buttons

needlepointed hamsas: are the fingers up

or are they pointed down?

What clenched fist was engraved on which

stoney mind these past decades?

Whose art is to be now negated for bad behavior?

There was the handcrafting of tea tins

depicting banal scenes of royalty,

and not a whitesmith amongst us.

And the appearance of a woman with four daughters

all named Claire, in biting adoration;

tales of Grace Jones in silvery shoulders,

singing to the groundlings at 54—

a penny-a-piece and a handful of hazelnuts;

of squatting on Saturna Island

and of east coast rappers vying for attention.

Who could be disinterested in the Irish?

In Motherwell?

Who knows why this court is deemed an avenue?

Or why Jane Smiley at this point

has done a life of Dickens?

Who knows how to kill a mockingbird?

And who knows why

a liver’s enzymes ever go awry?


The old, wooden newspaper holder

at the breakfast spot—a splintered stick,

split up the sides

(you insert into the slit

the gutter of the paper to keep it stiff while read—

separate prongs, but never separated at its base—

drawn fast, clenched in common aspiration)

is put back in its place

before the permutating of walking order

commences on our way back to the house—

we up front, then you and you,

then me with you, me back—

less organized but as inborn as birds inclined

to head for mossier climes.

Turn my oyster up—

can we not cant, titter,

and bevvy more in

your gildy dolly latty?

And here we are again, in magazine parlor—

discussions of handsy politicians

and least favorite/favorite concerts attended

and knives in backseats of cars—

of indecisiveness in dispensaries—

recorded all, surreptitiously,

in earnest Elizabethan Blackwork—

less Defarge, however,

and more Louis Comfort rendered

in dye-dipped threads.

This is when we ask ourselves,

out of sheer perversity,

but in all seriousness,

for the years are upon us now,

and enzymes have begun to go awry,

“Whatever happened

to Virginia Woolf?”

And will you choose to laden your pockets

or instead, revel

in the slimy exhilaration

as your foot

first touches the mossy riverbed.

Copyright © 2022 by Brad Fairchild.

About the Author

Brad Fairchild’s writing has been mostly for the stage, but his poems have appeared in such places as Qarrtsiluni, Phoebe, My Gay Eye, and most recently in Tilted House. He holds an MFA in dramatic writing from the University of Georgia and lives in the Atlanta area with his terrier, where they enjoy napping and working on found-object sculptures.

Brad Fairchild received a cash prize of $500.00. The 21st Annual Gival Press Oscar Wilde Award contest was judged by Jeff Walt.

The finalists:


by Brian Farrey-Latz of Edina, MN

I never thought I’d wake up a middle-aged lesbian

by Nicole Santalucia of Chambers, PA


by Susa Silvermarie of Ajijic, Mexico