Tag: poetry

poetry

The willingness – Lauren Suchenski

the willingness to
peer into the present moment
without a passing thought

the fullness of the fearlessness
between your fury
that pours onto the concrete –

peeled resonance ;; absolute
resistance to the reality of your
eyes percolating – relating – rotating
seeing everything except
the circumstance of air
Around my body

 

 

—

Lauren Suchenski has a difficult relationship with punctuation and currently lives in Yardley, PA. She has been nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize as well as twice for The Best of the Net and her chapbook Full of Ears and Eyes Am I is available from Finishing Line Press. You can find more of her writing on Instagram @lauren_suchenski or on Twitter @laurensuchenski. 

poetry

Dad, not Daddy – Denna Berg

I was so afraid of becoming his mom, that I became his dad.

Thinking we were subverting the norms;
because he washed the floors and I paid for the roof.
because he cooked the food and I drove the groceries home.

But the same walls were built.

We thought by trading spots we would build something new,
but we just read the same blueprint in the mirror.

We played house until the structure crumbled,
unable to hold the weight
the oven ripe with fresh cookies. 

 

 

—

Denna Berg was born and raised in Toronto, Canada, although her main hobby is taking long plane rides away from there. As a policy advisor during the day, she is new to embracing her creative writing abilities. When she is not coddling her words, you can also find her exploring groceries or trying to clear her schedule to make time for naps.

poetry

numb – Anna Antongiorgi

I only cried when they arrested
your killer on the tv freeway. 
In a past life the three of us 

all walked the same high school hallways.
Our Spanish was terrible
but Señora liked you and I because

we spit fire and hated all the same 
people. My mother and I are still 
fighting because she asked me 

to make this for you. She is worried I
am wooden. She is used to my melting.
Thanks for believing I could

compete with all the crimes
of the human race. I’m sorry
I couldn’t compete 

with yours. I hope you still post 
crunchy Instagram
photos that everyone worries about.

I know you were joking
for the aesthetic 
and, if you’re honest,

for the validation too. 
You have a Wikipedia page now
that, like this, I cannot un-see.

We were experts at pretending
not to care about anything.

You would be proud at 
how good I’ve gotten at it. 

 

—

Anna Antongiorgi is an aspiring writer, choreographer, and dancer originally from Redondo Beach, California. She graduated from Harvard in 2019, majoring in English. She is currently pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing at the New School. You can find her on Instagram @embodied_poetry and at https://annaantongiorgi.wixsite.com/akantongiorgi. 

poetry

“Please Don’t Tell the Hospital it Was the Dog; They’ll Put Him to Sleep” – Lannie Stabile

Calves plump like a shoulder roast,
adrenaline thumping in a wolfish room
Have you ever seen a fibula 
picked clean of its fat flesh and prickled skin
Teeth tore so cleanly
Teeth worn so manly
           -forks in a famine

And mother howls more over the fate of the fangs
than the wound

 

 

—

Lannie Stabile (she/her) was a finalist for the 2019/2020 Glass Chapbook Series and semifinalist for the Button Poetry 2018 Chapbook Contest. She is a three-time Best of the Net 2019 nominee. Works are published/forthcoming in Entropy, Glass Poetry, 8 Poems, Pidgeonholes, Okay Donkey, and more. Lannie currently holds the position of Managing Editor at Barren Magazine.

poetry

Arab Spring in Berlin – Rebecca Ruth Gould

Arab Spring in Berlin

I turned down the offer of a dowry
& we hitched a ride to the airport 

at twilight from Damascus to Berlin, 
to start a new life. 

Syria started burning soon after we arrived.
First, the revolution in Egypt had to be televised.

We made love on the balcony overlooking Tiergarten
as CNN live streamed the revolution.

I was full, dreaming of the castles we would build.
Every light in the skyline was a votive candle

& then I was overtaken with fear of pregnancy, 
worrying that my hasty longing

had brought new life into the world.
Crimson trickles broke the terror—

I bled the everyday blood we (women) shed—
the reassurance that life continues 

even when death prevails—
while the shahids were martyred on Tahrir Square.

When I waved goodbye to you in the U-Bahn,
the station’s cement blending with the night,

I felt like those revolutionary fools 
who cast fear aside 

because they believed that it was right, 
opening my arms to the world.

 

—

Rebecca Ruth Gould is the author of Cityscapes (Alien Buddha Press, 2019), and Writers and Rebels (Yale University Press, 2016). She is the translator of High Tide of the Eyes (The Operating System, 2019), After Tomorrow the Days Disappear (Northwestern University Press, 2016), and Prose of the Mountains (CEU Press, 2015).