September - Poem 11
In the first book / Yael Aldana
In the first book
There is the hour of the robin
Then the hour of the titmouse
Then the kookaburra whose name
I forgot, but the sound of which
I remembered
It is all very simple, she said.
Red is the color of life
of blood
and hurt
and judgement
and luck
don’t forget hurt.
She spoke so that the words
came out quickly, one behind
each other, although evenly
spaced apart
she scratched her head
nervously and twisted
a curl around her finger.
My whole body is slanted / Catherine Bai
1.
you have no idea
what shame is
how could I ever be shamed by
someone like you
who’s never even hugged their mom’s
magnificent pubes
2.
do you think I won’t do it
that I won’t seppuku right in front of you
the next time you even look at me through those
slits
3.
you likey
me likey
we all likey
I want so badly
for you to see me
4.
why even try
to be seen
The Same Dark / Danielle Boodoo Fortune
Weary of the same room
same yellowing light
same spoons clinking in teacups
same empty bowls waiting
to be filled, same need
simmering in the same
cracked saucepan, same
breadcrumbs, same trail
of sugar ants, same list
on the counter, same self
same mirror, same self
I start the day all over again
draw the same curtains,
slip again into the same dark.
XI: Dithyramb for T.S. Eliot / Kendra Brooks
What’s all the purring about?
Just this: every poet needs a cat!
Not a dog to walk or chase or pat,
A feline who knows all the feels
& keeps her criticisms well concealed;
A cat who with her purrs protects
And praises each new word the poet selects.
You can even teach a cat the sonnet form
She can easily tap out iambs with her feet
Stressed and unstressed for each single beat
and still keep her tail perpendicular.
When it comes to the practice of poetry
what’s better than a cat who knows a dactyl?
Survey / Kimberly Gibson-Tran
Permission / Yvette Perry
I grant you access to the parts of me
that shrink from the light and are sensitive to
sudden changes in barometric pressure and altitude
Your ears may pop, too, if you crawl in this cabin with me
You may go down with me and the ship if you stay
I consent to your search
You may touch me through my clothes, under my clothes,
rummage through my bags, weigh and x-ray their contents
You may carefully check the ID I carry,
hold it up to my face,
make sure my eyes match the ones in the picture
I have nothing to hide
I have everything to hide
It doesn’t matter which
I agree to your interrogation
and I revoke my right to counsel
I am, for you, the open bar and the free buffet
Put that away
Your money is no good here, sir
I’m on the house
Everything, everything
My answer to everything is yes
Anachronism – Out of the Time / Amber Wei
When the aged architecture of the bone catches up to the naivete of the spoken soul
say to me what I forgot centuries ago
that birthed, the starlight vanished
and the fission of nuclear twilight was the anthem
and our memories transcended space and time
A short fusion into the remains of the Jurassic age
when the dinosaur roamed
let the remainders of the Jurassic age
not be the myth that forever adapted to the
imagination of man
For the shape-shifters were ever the
oceans that reconstructed according to the
continental drift
from Pangea
The everglades that found the sun at the equator was
the North Star of your eye
There, I emerged of the new age
the paradactyls were not prepared to hold
