November - Poem 24

Raising a Life  / Megan Bell

Pick your battles. Save your energy for those who show up. No doubt you will make mistakes - forgive yourself. You aren't the only one occasionally stroking out and committing absurdities. There's more than enough to go around. 

Keep the mystery alive, don't tell him all your secrets. Coffee, brush your teeth, then stretch. It's okay to feed your kids fast food. You can tell me anything - I, too, know the pinch of a tight roof. 

Get enough sleep. Don't be afraid to say no. The kids won't remember dirty carpets when you dance across them in love. When the night arrives, show up to greet it like the dawn. 

In the end, you are the only thing holding you back. 

Waiting For You To Light the Fire  / Alison Lake

I squint into the weak sunlight
that stumbles through autumn’s clouds,
see no sign of the dandelion of spring,
only the gnarled roots of the patient,
resting trees.  I am alone and yet
I can feel your spirit bubble into
my brain, speaking the sweet
gibberish of love’s remains.
I am cold and I long for your flame,
the roiling fire of your hand
placed on my knee or the crook
between chin and flashing throat.
How soon until you’re home?

soldier boy / Maya Cheav

he’d rather split an ocean
in half with his sword, 
move a mountain range
on horseback, 
shift tectonic plates
in the heat of the battle, 
than admit the blood 
coursing through his veins, 
pulsing through his heart, 
a steady beating 
for him 
and him only. 
he can beat it out of himself, 
he can. 
if not with words and shame, 
than with fists. 
his body is not short of blood 
to bleed. 
through self-inflicted torture alone
there’s enough to feed a vampire 
for a half century. 
but it is not enough. 
there is no forgetting. 
there is no change in feeling. 
his eyes, 
no matter what form he takes, 
he can always recognize him
by his eyes. 

blend / Jada D’Antignac

sunlight screams through my curtains 
blending into my alarm
ready to flow with the mystery of a day
i blend from night to morning

in the car 
my soul blends into music 
at the coffee shop 
my dragging spirit blends into flavorful warmth 
in the salon 
my bare nails blend into marigold 
walking past a stranger 
my face blends into a smile 

soft white blends into deep blue
as day blends back into night 
showerhead blends into reset 
my hands fold as thoughts blend into prayer 
my arms wrap pillows as i blend into a dreamstate
until morning returns

Notes from the Field, iv  /  D.C. Leach

I bought lady bugs to devour the bark scale that’s
suffocating the crape myrtle
through the front window; hung them
from its branches, but they
all flew away—

this is a pneumotube. it measures respirations—

mimosa tree. fuck. I love you. too close
to the house, unfortunate
invasive roots. I need
to chop you down, but oh!
mimosa tree, such pink flowers!
            which part of me is this I cut down?

this is a blood pressure cuff. you know what it does. I may
move it at times from your arm to your wrist
to your calf—

the weeping cherry has been dying year on year
crown down. apical buds along its trunk hucking
for sunlight—

these straps on your fingers measure the galvanic skin response…
your sweat glands—

even touching the mirror, I cannot close the distance between finger and reflection—

do not stare at the doorknob or meditate or say prayers or think of a happy place or—

we let a meadow grow on our hillside, for the bees to meditate in:
flocks of bees
thickets of bees
hoards of bees all buzzing about the aster flower
murders of bees hiding their knives in the tall grass
kettles of bees coming to boil over a green flame
a congress of bees filibustering
whole grocery store aisles of bees stacked liked cans
neuronal clusters of bees ruminating on the aster—

these pads under your butt and feet will measure movement. do not
clinch your anus—

my mother gifted me a fear
of fishbowls, so I planted a row
of arbor vitae atop our hill to block
the night view into our windows
from the street—

do you consent to this test?—

I have this theory of mirrors in which each of us shatters
a mirror at birth, the shards glinting back at us from everywhere,
every day—

The Fix  / Dawn McGuire

I fail, but will to stay close by your side.
You teach me how to love; to listen cleaner.
Each day I lose, and still I will to try.

You tried to tame the storm and climb the sky.
Your wings now scrape the floor. I’ll never know
what failed. Each day: love harder by your side.

Your ravaged veins collapse, and then I lie:
I say I’m not afraid. I wake in terror.
Each day I lose, and still I will to try.

I see the light extinguish in your eyes.
Regret’s a house I’ve furnished room by room.
What’s failed? Today: love harder by your side.

I dream of rooms without exhausted sighs.
Your name—I say it softer with each call.
Today I lose, and still I will to try.

Love’s not a fix. The daily act is this:
a tourniquet, so that the wounds may close.
What failed? Tomorrow may be hard, or harder.
Today, I failed. Tomorrow—is tomorrow.

Something was off in her head / Samantha  Strong Murphey

she knew this       suspended         at the angle of repose
where unmet need and        entitlement meet      Arthur was
well Arthur was perfect, wasn’t he?        he is all fault
who hath no fault at all       is there nothing about my land
that appeals to your heart?       his question             the answer
what land could rival            a body?        beneath the beveled armor
chains       mesh slapping against         muscle      in a thousand years
myth will tell us       that when Arthur dies        Guinevere lives out her life
as a nun       piety          denial        cold virtues           round the round table
what the hell        she thought                watching the knight kneel
before her        helmet removed         locks tumbling down
she was already a nun