June - Poem 7
Re-routing / Kristina Byas
Perhaps
I’ll take the
scenic route
back to me.
Conversation Starters to Connect with Your Father / Shavahn Dorris-Jefferson
1. Tell me the best memory from your childhood.
2. If you could be an animal, what kind would you be?
3. Don’t worry, I know you love me.
4. There was one time I thought you would punch me in the face.
5. I can’t forget you called me a whore.
6. When I was a child, I wished you dead.
7. The hair you ripped out grew back thicker.
8. I used to pretend I was asleep so you’d pick me up and tuck me into bed.
9. Yes, you were a good provider.
10. I’m sorry someone hurt you.
11. We were too scared to even ask you to play outside.
12. You’re the person I talk about the most in therapy.
13. Of course, I’ll always love you, but—
14. Grownup me feels guilty I wished you were dead.
15. I’ve always known you love me, but—
16. What are you scared of?
17. Tell me two truths and a lie.
The Pigeon Poem / Jess Tønseth Lee Gleason
I promised my roommate I’d write a poem about pigeons
about a tiny pigeon cobbler
making little pigeon shoes
for the hot summer days in the red bricks of Boston
about tiny nurse pigeons
caring for tiny wounded pigeons
from out in the war against the raptors
about tiny prosthetists pigeons
making tiny pigeon prosthetics
replacing missing toes and amputated feet
about tiny lawyer pigeons
suing the MBTA
train moving too fast for Dr. P. Columba
about tiny undergrad pigeons
bobbling from class to class
their tiny bird brains crammed in books
about tiny street vendor pigeons
in their tiny food trucks
slapping down food with a foot, taking money with a wing
about tiny pigeon children
flip-flapping to tiny pigeon schools
looking back at pigeon parents heading to pigeon jobs
but not about the ICE agent pigeons
they don’t want to be pigeons anymore
they’re not pigeons anymore
they can’t be tiny, don’t want
the contentment of walking
on cobbled streets, on rock
sure communities –
time to be the fattest pigeon, instead
of a famished pigeon, the pigeon king
my roommate didn’t want me to write about
scary pigeons who are hard
to see amongst the others
their gray and white feathers blending in
that’s until they molt and they’re proud
the skin they’ve pinked
I don’t want to write a poem about pigeons
but they sit next to me when I wait
for the T, plus I know how
to coo in harmony
SHOULDER / Shane Moran
Suppose, your wife will never love you again say,
Happy marriages can range any length of time, really, how will you
Own that? Imagine, it is not ordering a Cybertruck Figure not,
Using some twenty-two year old body to touch on your sad chest
Looking over at your friends the same way you once did at
Duke. Admit it (that) won’t bring you peace. Daresay,
Earmarking what she was always right about
Rarely worked. Oh, friend. Pretend yoga won’t kill ya.
Feeling / Jingyu Li
where art lost me
hands for something swept
where tears lost me
topspun and already
seen
where sleep left me, torched
in purple hands
, and stupor dreamt me
a kiss and something
blue
where a sore of
cornflowers hung unevenly
in terrible corners
and nobody startled
the chickens
Understory / Stefanie Zito
The speed of the day sends
me rushing to the woods.
My disquieted shoulders drop
as I reach the edge of the forest.
A curtain of trees parts
to reveal the woven path
of saplings and shrubs and
all her genius bugs,
the ecological engineers
dutifully tending the terrain.
Leaf litter and humus become
my sensual sanctuary.
I lay myself down
on the forest bed,
I tuck myself into
the layers of understory
within this hidden haven.
I listen to the silent wisdom of
my surrounding sisters,
root myself in their fresh care
and blanket myself in breath.
