June - Poem 11
Scream Queen / Kristina Byas
I don’t audition anymore;
typecasting has its perks.
Whimpers to blood curdling,
slow chases to Leti Lewis.
I know these scripts by heart,
yet each a work of art.
Raw talent, I claim,
but I’ve been classically trained
to survive
to stay alive.
Here you have your
final girl.
/əˈbjuːs/ (n.) / Shavahn Dorris-Jefferson
In my family, we called it Tuesday … dinnertime … discipline … consequences … Christmas … kinda … maybe … our fault … Friday … punishment … correction … biblical … protection … strength … concern … Sunday … nothing … training … order … education …for our own good …love, love.
Haunted House Heart / Jess Tønseth Lee Gleason
sometimes these things are just supposed to be known
when the green shutters smash themselves
in the aching yellow morning
sometimes these things are just supposed to be
as I rise and shake winter eyelashes
left as gifts on my pillows
sometimes these things are just supposed to
roll down like skulls and carrots in my garden
mixed together in my dinner stew
sometimes these things are just supposed
partially assumed when children trick
or treat my house with toilet paper
sometimes these things are just
and I don’t burn without|
hatred to guide me
sometimes these things are
the way I left them when I come home
ghosts occupied elsewhere
sometimes these things
decide to be a person knocking
on the porch in slanted sun
sometimes these
remains get slung up
and I’m left alone
sometimes
I’m
not
SHOULDER / Shane Moran
Shall I play 2K or COD for ten
Hours or apply to 100 more jobs?
Only spent 100 dollars on my MyPlayer—
Useless, if I let it go to waste. I’ve been thinking, and
LeBron is a man not worth being jealous of.
Divine gifts are not a matter of human
Economics don’t count how much I’d pay to
Rewatch game 1 of the 2018 NBA finals.
A House in Other Words / Jingyu Li
The Tutelage of Trees / Stefanie Zito
Standing in the surround sound of green
hues, beholding the spectrum
of late spring, nearly summer shades
spanning from gold to blue
lustrous in the freshly finished drizzle.
Thick air hovering
a slow drip of renewal gently
caressing my tender tiredness.
Birds sing me back to life, masking the city
sounds now in the distance, beckoning
me deeper along the path.
These trees share their breath
and raise their branches
gesticulating their wisdom
to live slow is to live well.
I’m still learning how
to sink into the earth
to reach towards the light
to embrace the rain
to relish the sun
to honor dormant days
to savor flourishing ones
to not resist decay
to not rush growth
to trust the big magic of deep time.
Beads of rain leap frog from leaf \
to leaf, descending through the canopy
finding each other like a game of sardines
until their collective weight gives way,
splashing me in surprise.
Startled. Delighted. Refreshed.
I’m still learning
how to let go.
