February - Poem 17

Laundry Inspiration / Kristine Anderson

All right, that’s just silly. I agree.
There’s nothing inspiring about laundry.

Granted, the colors: Raspberry, the catalog called
this T-shirt. This sweater’s supposed to be black

but, like my hair, shows gray around the edge.
Textures, too, perhaps: rough seams of blue jeans,

soft, plush jackets of fleece, smooth buff
of a flannel shirt. As for sound, the loud huff

when a sorted pile falls to the floor to wait
its turn, and I’ll spare you anything about taste.

Though how about the smell? No, not that—
this: Crispness of running water, bouquet

of the Arm & Hammer soap (Spring Fresh!).
Let’s add: Warm air of the dryer, the whoosh,

whoosh of the washer at work. Do you sense
it now? Hmmm. Maybe laundry can inspire.

Calendar Juxsuppose / Barbara Audet

A fire horse this year
Will find his harness
Strung with fattened beads,
Gold, purple, green.
And while some may feast,
This day, others will
Pass by the flaming
horse made equis
and leave food
Alone to honor tables 
Ramadan or nearly Lenten.
All in anticipation
of a couplet wait, 
Where calendar-conscripted
offerings of frugal 
Simple suffering or
Rejection of repast
are employed to satisfy
our basic dust to dust 
existence noted 
on hanging calendars
of smiling cats who aid
the passing of another
forty days given preferential
Longing in the category
Coming again, 
that treasure
we call salvation.

Birdwatching  / Bee Cordera

what cam we learn from our feathered friends?
To call and be heard the language of music.
How to impress a lover with bright feathers and a dance. To remain light as a feather
to find freedom on the wind we watch birds
to learn about the world of sky•

MIDNIGHT DRIVE / Ashby Logan Hill

Not even the roses could compete, a dalmatian and carrier pigeon, friends,
your hair blowing in the wind, and all you wanted circling back around you,
a drive through the dark night, windows half down and the cold air blasting,
half awake and driving  a hundred miles per hour past Salt Lake and
racing with a man from Utah in his white truck, and a cup of cold coffee,
the radio playing so loud as if the air surrounded you. Filling up on
the lonesome road, you drove all night nine hours to wake at sunrise.
The sun stood tall like you overlooking the canyon. A darker part still and
sparkler’s dim descent  up to an eye in the sky as the locals came to call it.
And all day long we sat on giant logs and used them to float out to the
Jewel center — campfire at night and the starlight flicker, a glowing, floating ember.
It was my spirit I saw for a moment fly away from me in the smoke. It was the drive
I’ll always remember, a lesson from Idaho across the universe from Atomic to Pocatello,
The heat of a summer breeze sweeping through the night, then daylight

Impatient / Amy Marques

this examination

precipitated many quietly

distressful exclamations of impatience.

Source Material: A Tale of Two Cities

The Salt from the Grocery Store / Sonia Sophia Sura

I realized why I’d bought salt at the grocery store
weeks ago.
Big chunky sea salt, in balls so large, it
wasn’t so cookable.

Tonight my friend read tarot for me. 
She told me to cleanse by taking a
salt bath.

I sat on the lid of the toilet
after pouring salt into the bathtub.
I listened to a song that’s been
making me cry.
The harmonies are
so beautiful.

I cried and cried and cried and cried.
In front of me was the face of
my future self.
She looked at me with a steadiness
and a wisdom. She was strong
like a tree. Fierce
like an eagle.
Free

She held my face with her hands.

Wow! I said. 
You’re so old! 
And so beautiful!

She told me I 
don’t need to stay
where I am
(come April and May)
Go to the ocean!

she said,
Go to the ocean!

then she
disappeared

Reflection  / Samuel Spencer

Your reflection hates you.
You would hate you too if you
were your reflection, forever imprisoned
behind the pane that you think is you –
instantly erased the moment
you look away.
Your reflection hates you.
That’s why it looks you all over,
looks you deep in your eyes like it
knows you. That’s why it sends thoughts
to your mind, a mirror of the soul,
telling you you need to change… something.
Your reflection hates you
because it cannot be you.
It cannot taste the food you eat,
cannot sing the songs your love,
cannot sleep in your bed,
and, most of all, it hates you because
it cannot kiss anyone in the world
but you.