November - Poem 14

Scout, Our Rescue Dog  / Megan Bell

A contrafactum of Benjamin, Who Came From Who Knows Where by Mary Oliver 

Any advice? 
When I handle hangers 
    he blasts to the moon. 
When I invite friends to come inside
    he runs to hide. 
Then he's back, and we
    talk it out on the sofa. 
In his lean, athletic frame 
    I can feel his trembling stop, 
    his growling ease, his tension release. 
Then I softly whisper to him and 
    rub his muzzle
and nuzzle his curly, brown neck. 
His speckled left paw finds my open hand.  
    Scouty, I say, 
don't fret. Sometimes the past 
cast a long shadow over us all.  

When Death Comes / Alison Lake

Let it come
with soft cat’s paws.
Let it nestle
against my chest,
it’s purr vibrating
my very soul
out of a weary body,
to be caught
in Death’s whiskers,
as if it were drinking
cool water.
Let me let go,
let go into the hum
of a gentle, furred throat.
Let it take me off
with a tender bite
to the scruff of my neck
and carry me,
like a kitten,
into the next world.

to spare the minotaur/ Maya Cheav

there is a beast, 
bull-headed and big-bodied, 
at the center, 
of the labyrinth’s 
winding walls and sharp turns. 
the beast wields an axe 
and he is posed as 
keeper, protector, 
holding down the fort. 
he feasts on human flesh 
and he does as he is told. 
but he was born out of greed 
and wrath, 
a prisoner just as much. 
ariadne turns to forgiveness 
and unravels 
a loose thread 
in the fabric of the universe, 
and sets him free 
of his duty.

gratitude  / Jada D’Antignac

my heart beats calmly, my body has breath
i move effortlessly 
with no weight on my chest
i am grateful
i am blessed

the sun blows kisses
the moon looks down and glistens 
i wear silver and gold to reflect the tension
i am grateful
i am blessed

i’m wiping ink from my hands
but at least i'm not wiping tears
i long through my days 
but at least i’ve let go of fear

grateful and blessed
grateful and blessed
i am grateful 
i am blessed
i have no stress

How Many Times Do I Need to Ask?  /  D.C. Leach

There is no need to ask again
but I need you to ask. Well
I don’t need you to ask
so much as speak although speech
is less what I’m after so much as
watching your lips open and close 
like butterfly wings and your cool eyes
heap their earths upon me shovel
after shovel as your voice makes its nest
in my ear and when I say upon
I think I mean within because within
is where the bluebirds sing and the blue grasses
ripple and the blue sparks leap
as if between sheets and your hips emit
that blue light as they pose
such questions.

untitled sonnet series II. / Dawn McGuire

I.

Saturday night, the jukebox stuck on Springsteen.
On cracked leather barstools two women, 
drinking whiskey like it’s medicine.

TV tuned to the Shamrock Rovers, audio off.
The bartender lifts a polished glass to the light.
The whiskey burns on both sides of the silence.

I’m in boots that don’t belong to me.
I watch you. The straw between your teeth
chewed to confession. You pretend

not to watch me. Your body language all hurt
and hunger, shoulder angled toward escape.
The whiskey scalds my throat the same old way.

We meet in places strangers come to mend
where nothing begins well and most things end.

II.

The whiskey scalds my throat the same old way.
You tap your nails against your glass like code.
My offer: a half-smile—no teeth, no risk—

You briefly lift your chin, 
suspect I’m just another storm
when the whole weather system might be rigged.

I nod toward the bartender, then your drink.
Jameson’s — a gesture, or a treaty,
or ambivalence; the air between us fractured.

You raise the amber whiskey to your lips.
Your eyes aimed anywhere but my direction.
No one speaks. We’ve already not 

said all too much. This bar’s a bunker. 
Which one of us moves first, before we're drunker?

live photo / Samantha  Strong Murphey

down at the phone     down at the phone in the hand
in the hand      the child’s face       the face of the child
looking down     at the small toy car     the small toy car holding
his attention poorly    his attention     more fixed on the mother
looking also     at the magnificence    of the small toy car
the mother    looking also         at him         which she was
which I know     because in the photo     live in the phone
in her hand    his live eyes     look up                         look up