Poetry | July 2023

First Assist

The robin takes her night bathtub
within the little pond,
fluttering her feathers
amidst water hyacinths
and fallen dogwood petals;
the picture,
for the second,
sutures the grief,
with a smile.

—Lyla Yastion

The Change

Typically I lie
About how
Scared I’m.
—Dominik Slusarczyk

Responsible as Charged

Responsible of by no means questioning why he was the one black youngster in my Catholic elementary faculty
Responsible of by no means questioning if he actually was as imply as others stated or simply too tall and totally different
Responsible of not recalling now if he had associates in school or why I didn’t need to be one myself
However then I used to be solely seven then eight then 9 and too younger to know one thing was improper
Responsible once I was a little bit older for by no means being interested by why one aspect of city was white
the opposite aspect throughout the large boulevard was all black and that I shouldn’t trip my bike there
Responsible years later of not being shocked to listen to that he had ended up jailed after which killed
not disturbed why his finish appeared as predestined as was my escape from city to a greater life
Responsible too many occasions over greater than 60 years of not noticing or caring sufficient to query
why so many hundreds like him have died for no motive past the fact of their blackness
Questioning after lastly awakening to the historical past of enslavement that continues to fester right here
if I had befriended him so way back and are available to grasp the obstacles he confronted in dwelling
that I might need performed extra since then to assist proper a horrible improper and really feel much less responsible now

—James DelViscio

Bathtub

We’re gathered, and the tears not wandered dissolve to bathwater
your mouth hanging open, I’m watching, smiling vacantly,
how lengthy we’ve been dissolving I don’t know
what I used to be smoking isn’t lit anymore and hangs delicately in my draped hand
we’re blinking slowly, not afraid to overlook a second as a result of this lasts without end
the waves between us are synthetic on widespread floor,
my foot, my legs creating the storm like god, as I attain down, down,
right down to the place you might be, seeing all of it unfold within the ever graying water
the issues not being stated creep in alongside the edges with the grey,
a grey loveliness of glances and actions hardly understood
and your pleasure adorns my eyelashes, mine adorns the bathtub,
this exodus of silence in a six by ten lavatory lasting weeks or months
so pure however so complicated a wanting rippling between our thighs in opposition to the porcelain,
nearly clinging to one thing rooted deep beneath the tub
reaching out and digging right down to see what we buried below that clawfooted monstrosity,
est-ce que c’est la vraie vie?
I’m watching us get awfully unhappy awfully younger, watching us forged issues off
your head rolls in opposition to the wall, eyes shut and mouth open once more,
what is going to I do in the summertime, I’m questioning, when my lips wilt and nectarine dries out drained
will I resolve your canine tooth don’t make me livid, whispering prayers on a kitchen counter
whispering amen if you flip over in your sleep and peel your self off my again,
as a result of truthfully thank god for the open home windows and the fireflies flitting out and in
quickly sufficient you’ll hate the best way I snigger and I’ll hate the best way you thrust your manner into issues,
however now, proper now, I really like the best way you progress, the best way you look proper now together with your head
to the wall and water snaking down your chest, I find it irresistible all
I haven’t but discovered fault with you however months from now with nobody to alleviate us
I promise I’ll, and although you’re too distant in your thoughts to inform me, so will you
you’re so distant as your eyes come again to fulfill my smile, I see smoke come out of your ears
making an attempt to make sense of my ft and my try and smoke what’s now not lit,
the water so grey now that you simply’re shocked by the issues I do
I’m silently grateful we’re nonetheless stunning one another,
maybe we must always transfer and drip ourselves into one other room, the place the flowers bloom
however I can’t convey myself to maneuver in any manner apart from how I’m now,
and you’ll’t convey your self to cease me, not now, positively not now,
our breath is united over a clawfoot tub in a quiet home,
I look about myself and attempt to see previous the haze of content material brilliance that glistens
on the backside of the bathtub, and discover I’m blind after you
I’ll maintain myself draped right here without end if it stays like this,
ce n’est pas la vraie vie.

—M. R. Silver-Altman

Not a Love Story

Among the finest love tales are those that didn’t occur.
Those that ended earlier than they started.
They may all the time be stuffed with hope, and potential.
Giggles and thriller.
To be regarded again upon with the smile of somebody
who simply shared essentially the most private inside joke.
These love tales is not going to be riddled with harm, or resentment.
They may linger on with promise within the land of what if.
The place you’ll be able to go to, everytime you need.

—Norina Vigeant

Areas

Now that I’m at your mercy
we reveal our empty areas now that I’ve breathed you in
you might be fixed—you might be fixed
Inside all of us is similar wanting
once I wake for the night time I seek for it in you
the warmth of all wanting, it’s waning
Now we add to the burden of all issues, for
we’ve been borrowed,
for the warmth of us, for our lengthy lives
I writhe in your grip now
now that you simply replenish these areas—till we met
I had usually dreamt of negating all
Longing, all of every sort, now
the sort for which we’re born damaged and the earthly sort
the place we add in nice numbers
You progress silently in me
for each other we’ve been borrowed
borrowed by the world for the warmth of us

—Jack Quigley

Quiet Darkish Locations

Just like the upstairs closet
In your again
trying up at your father’s neckties
The skinny, previous wooden
Hoping to cease
Hoping to cease time
—Matthew Cronin

Ode to an Novice Golfer
for my son Brad at age 39

A younger boy clutching a passel of sticks,
cap barely askew, clad in opposition to the autumn
chill in a blue sweater with a row of white
flags throughout the chest, out-of-focus yellow
maple leaves seen within the background,
a younger boy, my boy, at age two about to
run away from dwelling, however caught within the act…
If you have been 4, I took you to the golf
course with irons and woods, your new sticks.
You spent hours in greenside sand pots
studying make bunker pictures that
got here to relaxation close to the cup, the ups and downs
serving you properly as you rose by way of the ranks
to be named the area’s participant of the yr.

—Jim Tilley

Who Can Hear a Love Tune?

The Kauai O’o stopped singing
a long time in the past. Its lilting, bell-like
sounds drifted like silken strands
by way of jungle forests, lifted air
in humid wetlands, shifted rainbowed
skies. One hopeful mating name can
nonetheless be heard on tape. The final male
chirps, whistles, sighs for thrill of
romance. The feminine, lifeless 5 years
now, is not going to reply. Nonetheless, his voice rises
by way of mist and rain. Shiny yellow
feathers shuffle in opposition to darkish brown
plumage as he shifts lengthy legs to raised
amplify his music by way of tangled vines.
As he tries to court docket her with twinkling
trills of music, does he ever query
why silence is her sole retort? Or does
he, like poets all over the place, design phrases,
stir, spill, spin them aloft, in prayer
{that a} passionate viewers will seem.

—Mary Okay. O’Melveny

Minimize Flowers

Minimize
just like the early morning lily
flush with perfume and majesty
she’s distracted by the naivety of pomp and vainness.
Regardless of the wound she is set to bloom
because the scar varieties her colours gloom
he who lower her doesn’t water.
She
offers to fatigue
harmed her petals sigh
as soon as held excessive
her head, now
hangs
dry.

—Meghan Pribeck

There’s a Stillness

There’s a stillness that solely comes
After the dying is finished
When that courageous life, properly lived,
Has departed the daybed.
Her head nonetheless tilts in the direction of a whisper
None of us can hear,
Her undefended eye, barely open
Reveals a whorl of darkness
The place blue as soon as flickered.
The pores and skin pulled from hip to hip
Fingers planked and pale
Ft formidable however completed.
Playfulness rises from the custodians
Whose holy work is lastly performed—
Their laughter drifts from the kitchen
On the scent of reheated pizza.
The fading afternoon nonetheless comes on
Piercing the elm’s branches,
Turning undisturbed mud to gold,
Lighting beloved footage one final time.
We huddle right here collectively
Blessed by a quiet that reminds us
As soon as once more why we got down to love
This complicated miracle
An unceasing invitation
We will neither maintain nor lose.
—Kemp Battle

A Backyard of One’s Personal

After a line by Jorge Luis Borges
Let others boast of pages they’ve
written, I take delight in these I’ve learn,
when the afternoon has taken
that stunning flip as an alternative,
and my hand holds an previous
deluxe copy with that boon
of a web page that makes my eyes sway
like a caterpillar weaving its cocoon
and my head nod in unrestrained
delight about how Character A
has described Character B with out
realizing that C has additionally entry
to me and is revealing how fishy
A’s descriptions are. I take
my choose and submit A, B, and C
to my very own doubtful fancy.
My delight is that of a collector
of literary specimens cultivated
by others in order that I can trim and pin
every of them to my backyard
of human expertise
like butterflies.

—Diego Antoni

Woodstock Instances

Within the Almanac, hip-to-hip with penny socials, pot-
luck dinners, tractor security courses, knitting circles,
you’ll discover workshops on discover your spirit
animal, recycle candle wax, fly a kite, study
tai chi, I Ching, qigong, sit in silent meditation,
cleanse your chakras with celestial channeling,
discover your trigger with pace activism, and yoga,
children yoga, yoga pizza events, reggae yoga.
The drumming circle thunders its herd of hoofs
over the Village Inexperienced: candy, sluggish djembés,
fats, moist congas, the chomp and spank,
punch and thump, noise‚peaceable noise.
There is no such thing as a head nor tail, solely a whirling dervish
of fingers, torsos of our tribe turning into one
speaking drum. I am going to The Lodge to stare on the clock
produced from Levon’s guitars. The bartender handshakes
hashish to a person in black and his missus and so they, too,
are my tribe. However what I really like is the best way beliefs are worn
on natural cotton sleeves, how music rings from reclaimed
woods, how poetry drips from every native honeyed tongue.

—Lissa Kiernan