June - Poem 26

Bully / Kristina Byas

I don’t remember them all,
the many things they called me
other than my name. 

And it wasn’t forgetting,
just surviving,
choosing my own voice 
over their echoes. 

Exiting Eden / Shavahn Dorris-Jefferson

There are bugs in paradise:
woolly-legged ones,
yolky-eyed, fat-winged,
ones that cling to the skin
like a grifter.

And the sun still spills its
milk on everything,
making us wet and rotten.

This is what Eve knew
when she planned her escape,
her mouth open wide and wanting.

She got tired of all that beauty—
another sunrise, another sunset,
ripples waltzing across the lake.

Sometimes thunderstorms are nice,
or twisters, 
earthquakes too,
how they shake us
up, rearrange
the garden.

Beneath the Hand-shaped Oak  / Jess Tønseth Lee Gleason

The last time I lounged beneath
was with summer in you
and my hands were brimmed
– june bugs, honey sandwiches, desire.

Now in aches of spring, again
the tree’s blossoming perfumed leaves,
but no June, no honey,
only desire.
Hands emptied, save
cloudy sunshine gaping through
such splinter fingers.

I want those june bugs back
– hopefully I can resurrect enough
of their iridescent bodies 
to forget they stink when smashed.

Angel Sonnet 10  / Shane Moran

She joined him on the other side—held him,
and Beryl shrugged his wife off his shoulder,
telling her he’s fine, and continued reading
his eulogy. She returned to the pews and

he told the people of his mother who now
was with his father, and how he was unsure
if she would be thrilled or slightly concerned
she’d have to cook his favorite chili for eternity.

Once they were all gone from the repass,
his wife joined him in bed and held him—
His core convulsing, screeches of a bobcat,
a child who’s lost the one who made him. 

──────────────────

10.  be
  come
          of the finest 
  gifts

In the Rain in the Dark / Jingyu Li

I hold a flashlight in front of me
lighting up the few feet of road ahead of me
and I don’t know what’s behind me
or around. I wanted to spot a bear,
but I’m only looking at the ground,
though most things fall to the ground
so a lot can be implied from looking there.
The flashlight lights up streams of fine rain falling
and I see the slugs and occasional colored
leaves. I see what looks to be a snakeskin, I think
that’s what it is, so I take a closer look. But it’s the whole
snake smashed into the road, flesh spilling out 
the sides, but barely. A snake it turns out, is mostly skin, 
so with its insides out is still beautiful and recognizable. 
I’m grateful today, that I can say life has taken me
so far. I paint a picture for others to see, I walk
through the rain and tell a story.

Emotional Roll Call  / Stefanie Zito

They trace the trenches they’ve made
swiftly shuffling up the sidewalk
a familiar and deeply trodden path
one by one, brisk knocks on the door
I become their doormat. Groaning.
My hospitable disposition turns cold
hostility instead overtakes.
I light the candles and wish they could go elsewhere.

Maybe they just need to be seen
to be noticed. 
a welcoming wave instead of kneejerk wince.
Suddenly I observe their pain as my own
soften my resistance and draw them in. 
Hello to Fear. Anger. Resentment. 
We go way back... Greetings.
Guilt. Shame. Regret. I see you carpooled again.
Welcome, Grief. I know you like to linger… I’ll pull up a chair.
Anxiety, it’s been a minute, but only just.

How about we make space for the Cautiously Hopeful?
I’ll extend the table– set the leaves in place.
Will you join me? Let’s make room for it all. 
It’s time for some Radical Hospitality. 
Let’s say Grace.