June - Poem 15

Semantics / Kristina Byas

Carefree, not careless.

Taught by consequence,
not choice.

My tongue has learned
the difference.

And the burden of knowing
stole something from me
and left room for neither.

Mary Considers Abortion After Gabriel’s Visit / Shavahn Dorris-Jefferson

17 Blessed? she thought. 18 And Mary went to the garden behind the house and fell to her knees. She loosened her hair, tore at her clothes and almost cried out to God. 19 But she shut her mouth and got up. And she went out into the field in search of the yellow flower, and she plucked it. 20 Then she went to the stone and ground the heart-shaped pods into dust and took that dust and placed it in a cup. 21 She was trembling just thinking about what might be said. And could she be sure the one who had visited her was an angel? 22 She looked down at her breasts, which had never been touched, and she pictured a suckling mouth gorging. The thought of this made her weep so that she poured the dust into a pot, and the water took on a muddy color. 23 Then, just as water was seething, she felt the presence of the Lord come upon her, and the baby moved in her belly. 24 Wherefore she cried out, “Why me, God?” and waited for an answer.  

Consumption  / Jess Tønseth Lee Gleason

hunt this young poem

awake, struggling, eat the words

quick, slurp it all down

SHOULDER / Shane Moran

Soft hands on my sunburnt shoulders became claws during new sex.
Hurt like a hot shower, it was a hot shower. I search for
Originality in our beery breath, in the single syllable of my name.
Ultimate test of self-control—a body that enjoys making
Love without having fallen. An unneeded
Drowning, isn’t always unnecessary. Learning how wide her
Eyes open was an education, how often does someone
Remain attentive—how often do I attend through a stinging?

 Untitled / Jingyu Li

by Bei Dao, trans. Jingyu Li

Trumpet like a sharp plow,
we plant seeds 
through the night: how long
until the sunlight breaks through 
soil

How long 
until the one listening 
turns, notices us

How long, until we are
through toil, 
glory

Before our grain is stored,
these thoughts 
belong to no one. What is today 
or the next life?
A chasm: large waves crashing 
the shore. We 
in youth’s name
listen to the wild heartbeats

In a vaster place,
our sleep will be full of straw

Hidden Hope  / Stefanie Zito

Compost on spent dirt
Seeds planted, fresh and hopeful
Hidden potential