June - Poem 6
Balancing the Ledger / Kristina Byas
It wasn’t waiting,
not for all little girls,
not for us.
So we became women who
refused
demanded
imagined
endured and
claimed
what we owe
our daughters
when they come.
In All My Dreams My House is the One I Grew Up In II / Shavahn
Because I can’t forget the spiral staircase.
Because the knotty gray carpet, the clawfoot tub.
Because this is the room where we ate dinner.
Because that’s the room where I wanted to die.
Because this is the empty lot we used to play ball in.
Because my husband says I scream in my sleep.
Because the siding was yellow, the shutters brown.
Because my dentist says I need a night guard to keep from grinding my teeth.
Because I don’t remember it being so small.
Because we carved our names in the windowsill.
Because when I hit my son I cried and promised him never to hurt him again.
Because, somehow, I love my father still.
overflow / Jess Tønseth Lee Gleason
I pull the dust bunnies
from out under my bed
by hand
I tell you
I love you by hearting
your texts twenty
first century apologies
maybe my smiles always flirt
with the pharmacist who doesn’t
confirm date of birth last name
when I need these refills
on endless pills I’m here
too much
I find eighteen socks
beneath the bathroom sink
none of them
are yours some of them
aren’t mine
out of the attic
I toss down worn flannels
homed with moths spoon
feed on plaid and all
the softer for it
books nestle by height
in drawers as you can’t
reach shelves like I do
right hand slack
you holler about coffee grabbing
the scoop wrong ruins
your morning
half-caff in the afternoon
at midnight you cry in wakefulness
I holler at you
about doing PT every
time I see you, then
every week
then only when I remember
I stop texting you
anything
your number becomes
assigned to someone else
In winter the rotary phone
in your office rings before|I can answer
you sto
I leave your webs
I’ve killed too
many brethren
when I was small now
I sloop you up in my forever
hands and wander you
out the door
SHOULDER / Shane Moran
—for Henry Hart
Siken calmly utters he shouldn’t be alive. If I’m
Honest, does any epiphany come unlike this one, hearing
One mouth moving at a time? (Would like to take a walk with you.)
Unlike Calvoceressi the man I miss is not dead. I’d
Like to believe that Hart is old and done listening to poets
Discussing loss in ballrooms. It has been a while. I know I should
Email, at least a small note of thanks to the first man to
Read Dickinson with me in his softest of voices.
Prisoner's Dilemma: in two parts / Jingyu Li
Prisoner's Dilemma: mother and father, idealized
Prisoner's Dilemma: patriarchy
Cosmos / Stefanie Zito
From summer into fall
I can count on the steady
splendor of your flames.
You bounce in the breeze.
Brightly you rise
and rest on limber stems
enticing the bees
with your sweet nectar.
I watch the choreography of
your stalks, long and slender
You teach me to tango.
I follow your lead,
learning to dance where
I’m rooted for the season.
The bright glow of cosmos–
sun’s clustered echoes
held in a single flower–
a universe unto yourself.
