September - Poem 28
Migration / Laura Bandy
The rare birds came and I scared them away. My mother
had gathered our girl scout troop in her station wagon
some girls lying flat like Shrinky Dinks in the back, to go
see Cedar Waxwings gather in the branches. An ear-full
they were called in a flock, for their trill. Not rare in other
areas, but hardly seen in the Midwest; Audubon called them
“winter uncommon,” and indeed, it was cold. Even in our
badged-up vests and beanies, the wind was frigid, red-leaved
trees in the Emma Mae Leonard Nature Sanctuary not stopping
October gusts from peeling layers off like plastic mistakes we
tossed in the trash after crafts class.
Once in a lifetime that the Cedar Waxwings would come, land
in our town and blend in dense bushes, nibble sweet berries
away from soiled human hands, eschewing feeders. Nomadic
and secretive by nature, still, I was able to sneak around back
of the thicket while my mother lectured the girls on biodiversity
and protecting the birds from soda straps and milk caps that
would make them choke. I could not say, at that moment, why I
did it: slid fingers between bramble and rattled the branches
while screaming, “Fly, waxwings, be free!” They rose like smoke
from a plastics factory, gray phosphorus shroud with pinions,
and blew away to their own migratory pattern while I stayed
below to walk my own: mother’s eyes on me, gathered girls
shrilling high-pitched whistles, thrilled. Scouting was rough,
did not come to me easy. But I wanted to see what would happen;
I wanted to make something happen. I wanted to know what I was
capable of.
Star Bright / Alicia Boemi
I plucked you from the stars,
you were shining brightly,
you were shining true;
too bright for me to bear,
so my light went out.
A Golden Shovel: “Feet,” by Ross Gay / Jesse DeLong
You first have to find a place you’re comfortable in
knowing that whatever it is you want or wherever the
last red moon rose above the factory
of your ambitions, it really always was about the where
of it all. Standing in a place your father stood is the opposite of loss,
which is probably why it makes
you want to run all
around and gather the things
you once thought were beautiful.
Like laying different soils in a garden bed so something will grow.
Advocating Abandon (Abecedarian in Blue) / Shelly Krehbiel
Because broken can’t capture delight – dance!
Even eclipsing fluorescence finds good ground here.
Have it! Indigo joins judiciously, keeps keeping light
like midnight might need naming, opening or permission.
Please, quit questioning! Relax! Release something smashing!
Turn toward ultramarine uproar! Vanish vigorously!
Which wonderous “x” exposes you - your zaffer zenith!
Note to reader: I’ve always hated abecedarians. They seem contrived, false, full of themselves. So here I am, trying one that probably is all of that. But across the street is a blue car, the man walking by wears a blue jacket, the wall behind them is a mural of wings that contains every color, but its blue begs attention, pulls the blue - the brilliant, holy, blue of the sky - down where I can almost touch it, where I want to sing it, release myself to it as my grey eyes turn blue in its light – and all I have is a cup of coffee, an empty screen, and twenty-six letters.
First, in freshwater, / rob mclennan
In case you wondered. Tarriff, tariff. Annexation: threats, insults, one-sided aggressions. The 51st state. Such grand tradition. To assault who they don’t understand, wonder what it is went wrong. We are who we are, and never the twain. The Siege of Montreal, Invasion of Quebec. The War of 1812. This is what we remember. Madison, sir. Your document is ready, your house is on fire. Orange monster, betrays. A signature, pencil. A kindness, of plenty. To sacrifice a deal. Hard-headed, entropy. The nicest people on earth.
why choose/Webtoon ekphrastic / Piper Rasmussen
in this romance, make me
all your lovers: I am the pale,
leached-white child of illness
writing poetry to the moon. Another
glance and burning ruby, flame-haired
warrior with no grace, growling at
the laugh-you-androgynous
fan-dance flirt & spy, kept in check
by the best friend, tree
in your childhood heart --
from your throne, observe
the rich jewels I bring
the glitter of your crown
in choosing every day
facet by facet -- each face
more & less than what I am in fact.
a climate crisis tanka #4 / Connor Simons
your hand is in my
mouth and poppy blossoms will
rupture from my tongue –
a state of emergency
is declared months in advance
For all my friends / Veronica Vo
I am not the same / as I was / but you know me / as myself / I could become anyone / anything I want / because of this / and it would still be true / people I meet / will love me / and know me / as this person / but you knew me / as the one / that came before / I knew the things / about myself / I know now / I was still me / all this time / you knew / I am not always good / and not always kind / and not just that / but in knowing / still choose to love me / always a choice / if the world ends / as long as I have you / I’ll be fine
Bread & Butter / Melinda Wilson
It’s my move:
2 Xanax & a
bj before bed
They call it
“The Maneater”
Or maybe
that’s the name
of a drink
at the Stumble
Inn / I laugh
because I
can / it’s
my move
my bread
& my butter
