September - Poem 14
What is the American berserk? / Laura Bandy
(A Cento with lines—in order—from Thomas Meany, Saul Bellow, Brigit Kelly, Carol Ann Duffy, Michael Van Walleghen,
Donna Vorreyer, Carl Phillips, Brigit Kelly, Gail McConnell, Jay Bernard, Patience Agbabi, Fatima Asghar, Alice Hiller).
It’s there on the vomit-splattered decks of the Mayflower,
the purgation one can obtain only through rage,
the irises the soldiers are bedded in.
Some days, although we cannot pray, a prayer utters itself
in knee-deep water and the hot acidic dark one full mile underground.
We try in vain to decode the soil’s erosion,
the grass not being flesh, nor flesh the grass,
while the one divides into two: the heart and its shadow, the world
and its threat.
You come to know the one against the other.
You kick the weeds and try to piece it back
like vodka on the rocks, like a slow-burning fuse.
I don’t know what will kill us first: the race war or
what we’ve done to the earth.
Note: this memory comes shagged with flies.
Ache of Becoming / Alicia Boemi
You loved me into someone you couldn’t keep in your embrace.
Not because I left,
but because I grew.
The prize of heartbreak is the ache of becoming.
Poem in which Your Snack Choice Tells You That You May Not Be Doing All Right / Jesse DeLong
Maybe because the salt and pepper shakers
were always at the table, you never think
about how texture affects taste, how
you crave the sourdough nibblers
more than the soft pretzel. You’ve
had a long day and want to
collapse something
stable with your
teeth.
Let’s try this: / Shelly Krehbiel
How to ride a bicycle, / rob mclennan
To do so, with resolve. There is no “All Canadian,” whether boy or girl or elsewise. Or Canadian bacon. You can’t always take. A Canada Goose will strike, when threatened. Know your study, wildlife. Be clear, debate. The world is watching. Rarely, so precise. This list of facts. Coined, as caffeine. A land of freedom, there are many. You are not alone. To not deny the space. This lake, so named by original inhabitants. To behave, as a liquid. An ethical purpose. Offshore. Province, followed. Your gods, withdrawn. There is no “Far East,” “Middle.” North Africa, instead. The Gulf States. A colonial language, focused on far-distant London. Ask: what say the locals. Kilometres to go before I sleep. The German word for German is Deutsch.
Joke for Fishing Buddies / Piper Rasmussen
When I learned to fish, my family recalled
Grandpa's vest, still loaded with line
in the rust-shut cabinet in the Old House,
gathering dust for half a generation. My cousin
was the first to dig and poke
past runny rubber bait & broken hooks. Straightfaced,
she pulled me aside:
You shouldn't use Grandpa's
lifetime fishing license.
It's expired.
when your mother resembles a parable / Connor Simons
a slow roll then all at once the change started in the womb when she first realized her fist could clench the second was the hard slap of air and the knowing that oh god it’s always going to be like this and the thing is that she wasn’t always a spider or a tree murmuring a garbled mother mother mother as the bark slowly covered her mouth her hands were human when she held me and her throat was made of the same muscle and sinew as mine the first time she said my name out loud can i even call it a decision? the loom was always there just waiting and the third change came when she said yes this is how i’ll live now and when i was younger the tone of these stories were axiomatic don’t think you get to be proud don’t think you can decide which way to run but now it’s not exactly heroic but the light of spider’s eye can bend light in ways that reshape all seeing and the way a bat an owl an eagle can cut across the sky at least makes meaning of arms sagging with the weight of boxed wine and if i want to i can cut through the park and place my hand on the tree and feel the wooden knots as they gnarl to shape the coo of the lullabies still humming in the dark of my ear
Why is everything romance / Veronica Vo
A poem made of signage spotted in NYC (& inspired by Sam)
First kiss was bananas
(what does that even mean)
Send feet pics
(it’s so cliché)
Everything will be okay
(everything is so cliché)
Tastes like cheating
(and i don’t know what any of it means)
Do not disturb is cat
(let’s move on. Charli XCX said everything is romantic)
Protect yo heart
(but why even try. still, i keep trying)
I didn’t like what you said over text…about the future
(though these Hinge ads mean nothing)
Screaming inside
(i hate using dating apps)
Mess with the bull get the horns
(and all the meaningless language)
Your love is a gift to the world
(but i need to get over myself)
Can we still fall in love this summer?
(i’ve given up on making sense but not on love)
Give me your vape and I’ll give you a hug
(we want what we want. can we just say what we mean?)
What Is Dead / Melinda Wilson
has more life.
For instance—
the blowflies arrive
sometimes in mere minutes
to begin their work
of breaking down the dead.
What is dead
has more life
Because then—
the water comes
sometimes in floods
sometimes as dew drops
to carry what nutrients remain
deep into the soil of the earth.
So what is dead
has more life still.
All at once—
we are reabsorbed into
the eternal womb. Our energy
recycled for new growth, new life,
and for forever death.
