May - Poem 8
Inventory / M. Anne Avera
A middle finger.
Your hair, liberty-spiked, yet
still somehow soft and curly at the nape.
A carton of eggs, undone
across the summer asphalt.
Black shirts, black shoes, black pants,
and a neon yellow, silver-studded belt.
The Sharpie tattoos you gave yourself
in study hall and their smell,
chemical and cool.
Fourteen rolls of toilet paper
draped across the house by
the other boys,
the ones who play football—
how it settles in the wind
like giant anemone.
Another locker to be shoved into.
A hard world in which you are different.
And your sneer,
which shows both canine teeth and
makes you look as though you’re
older, so much older than you are.
Pale Light / Desirae Chacon
Pale light whispers into the doorway
as curtains braid with the breezes somewhere between cornflower & periwinkle dusk
faded memories aglow
a pilot in the heart
like the light of a faint candle
descending into wax to forever oust the flame
A love once lost now buried and forgotten
just like these tombstones
embedded on grass & strolled by
days after a day
lives remembered
lives forgotten
the day that all days dissolved ‘for me
time stood still like
melted wax waxing cold
a fragmentary moment of life in time
forever stilled
like ozone & petrichor before the rain
petrichor of sweet memories
ozone of piercing grief
Electrostatic field of ionization
arcing the mending of wounds
easy to forget pain
once healing is suffused
a burn no longer dangerous
but hard to remember
the details
like a well sought after dream
subsequent awakening
on the cusp of life whilst on another realm
the timbre of voice
dissonant aura of a somber day
the exact colour of eyes
how to remember
one hard to forget
a love once thought as lost
was forever in my
hands
waning sorrows
& a heart forever full.
The Golden Fish / Heather Frankland
One golden fish
in one murky pond,
come on—let’s find her.
Lanterns and flashlights
and one box of matches
should be enough.
The pond sits at the far
end of the woods where the pets
are buried; the path changes
in daylight; only in darkness
does it reveal itself
when we are at our most desperate.
One golden fish
in one murky pond—
they say the fish sings
they say she laments
they say she once
had been a woman
who dreamed of youth
and beauty as her only currency.
She wanted her body
to be a penny, always lucky.
She dreamed of forever.
Some say she is the only fish
in this pond, but she always stays small.
She could be the size
of my hand or of my fingernail.
Still, she grants wishes,
and I need some luck in my life.
So come, let’s see if we
can find her.
Come, let’s see if she’ll
let herself be found.
We have dreams so high
we could use a little help.
I’m willing to believe
there is a golden fish
in a murky pond
deep in the woods
under the old trees
with their corpse hair
where the ticks drop
their hungry mouths.
I’m willing to believe
because I have to believe,
otherwise, we’d never
find a way out.
Door Dash / Jillian Humphrey
If you’ve never returned
your Christmas gifts,
you don’t get a say,
and if you’ve never Door Dashed,
be quiet.
Have you cried on the phone
with your mechanic?
Have you recently used a laundromat?
No? Then you’re out.
If you have good insurance
with a low deductible,
if you go on a family vacation
every year — it’s not your turn.
Don’t speak.
I am not interested in your reply.
Money does buy happiness.
It’s greed that makes you miserable.
I’m sorry if you are rich
and unhappy.
There are many unhappinesses
money cannot cure.
But there are very few happinesses available
to those who have no money,
and there are many unhappinesses available
exclusively to the poor:
they are all cured with money.
Closed / Shane Moran
After Leila Chatti
I love you, it doesn't make sense
that we don’t have a sanctuary
to convene our bodies—to use them
as transit to the spirit world, to kiss
and erase our grief—to make heaven
legible. Our hands. Our necks. Your face
close enough to fill all my heart’s vacancies—
I’m jealous of how close you let that me
of two months ago, at last—get to you.
People Who Rent Bikes In Big Cities / Christina Vagenius
always look happy,
like they’re getting a deal
on laughter, fist pumps
high-five heck yeahs
an empty goodwill bag
caught in the wind
lifted between lanes
eventually, inevitably
lost to the front of a train
two shoes tied together
tossed over a telephone wire
dazzled by the view
of the girl at the café
with the phases of the moon
tattoo, half-bitten confetti
cupcake, all celebration,
whispers me too.
<You, too, can be a hypnotist!> <emoji> <emoji> / Sonya Wohletz
Direct suggestion
You are <emoji> this
Indirect suggestion
You may start to notice how very easy it is to <emoji> this
Double bind
Would you prefer to <emoji> this now or in a few minutes?
Embedded Command
You can enjoy wondering whether you can <emoji> more with each breath in or each breath out
Tag Questions
If you follow my instructions, you will comfortably <emoji> this, and you know that you can follow instructions, don’t you?
Yes sets, pacing and leading
You’re sitting at that computer reading my words and beginning to <emoji> this more easily
Conversational Postulate
Can you imagine <emoji> this?
Confusional Language
Sometimes it’s confusing to think about how you’ll begin not to wonder when you’ll forget to remember that you’re <emoji> this
Negation Confusion
There’s no pressure here to <emoji> this, although it’s not impossible that you already <emoji> in ways you haven’t noticed
Utilization Language
You might be aware of the sounds of everyday tragedy going on around you, and that’s OK. You can <emoji> deeper with each awareness.
Linking Ideas
The more you notice each breath, the deeper you go into <emoji> this
(Reference: Debbie Waller, Yorkshire Hypnotherapy Training 2025)
