I said a while back that I would follow-up on my original post about Lana Del Rey’s latest album, Lust For Life, and I guess life got in the way. I was reminded of this post and my promise however when I tagged on Facebook about a bit of LDR news: she is retiring the song “Cola” due to a line in the song referencing Harvey Weinstein. “Harvey’s in the sky with diamonds and it’s making me crazy” is the line. I always thought she was saying “honey” not “Harvey,” but the more you know. Gross.
Dear Crestfallen Leaf,
I love your poetry beyond belief
Your words exude love, comfort, sweet relief
For this young old soul now battling disease
Awaiting Mother Mary’s soft whisper, “Let It Be”
Bringing a whole new meaning to carpe diem, seize.
Running down the dream, only to find
Karma’s a trip, with no travel agent in mind
And this, my desperate attempt to answer you in kind.
Maybe just one last trip, for old times’ sake
Niagara, Superior, Victoria Lake
“But the sea is wide and I cannot swim over
Nor have I the wings to fly.”
Still might I fashion, from my imagination,
Destinations just over that horizon.
Chocolate on your pillow, a room with a view
Through my mind’s eye
I glimpse Scarborough, Innisfree, Xanadu.
“Take the wave now and know that you’re free.
Turn your back on the land, face the sea.
And in due time, I will forge
A bridge over troubled water
To lead you back home.”
Full circle on this accidental poem.
“È la fede che
Hai acceso in noi
Sento che ci salverà.”
Nita Jain is a a 25-year-old biochemist from Lilburn, Georgia. Jain enjoys hiking, watching documentaries, playing piano, and trivia. Jain’s role models include Rosalind Franklin, Rachel Carson, Ada Lovelace, Alan Turing, Richard Feynman, Carl Sagan, and Oliver Sacks.
let me tell you about a moment i remember
in a life where they are the cheapest currency
not recognized at most major
airport money exchange counters
i remember a pause we co-wrote.
you were cutting garlic
you always did it better than me
i was stirring tomatoes until the bitterness would leave them
when our moment came
a pause leached of the sharp taste of half-cooked tomatoes
we stood inside each others’ overlapping arcs of energy
without looking behind me to where you stood
holding my existence with such sweet lack of effort
us wrapped in each other easy as pie
interlaced fingers of dough touching in the middle yet
open to sunlight, receptive to moisture
knowing that to turn to you would be like coming home
but staying where i was
because i knew you wouldn’t leave
that i wouldn’t find myself alone in a hot kitchen
stirring former tomatoes, now stripped of their skin
and without the soft embrace of garlic to enhance them
no, i knew you’d still be there
coming up behind me, at any minute to pass over
those small white bits
your hands fragrant
you, holding me still,
Ilse is an uncertain, sensitive English teacher who has lived and taught in Uganda, Laos, and soon China.
At The End Of It All
Colossal angled fingers,
Stretching to the sky,
Extending, uncurling like spiders legs,
Wide and red.
Poetry allows S.Peters to describe sensations that are ephemeral, abstract and poignant. Her #finalpoem was written at 30,000ft in a state of painful ecstasy, as she flew to America alone to begin a new life there. The poem describes both a fleeting moment of intense joy as well as a sensation of transcendental movement, fear and an almost holy, alien sense of purpose. “My very being was flying through the sky and I felt as if my whole body was stretching, striving for something. I am continuously living in that moment and this poem represents that.”
Womyn is Phoenix. Is God.
the entire thing is gone,
swallowed as the earth licks itself aflame
an unapologetic master heads home
mistress of the night beckons sweetly in the belly of darkness.
In the beginning man slept
as the beauty of womyn was fashioned, and
I can imagine the Creator speechless while
molding flesh into curves,
lips into resistance,
hair a lasso of truth,
eyes the very embodiment of Styx,
thighs the gates to forever, now and then.
I can imagine the angels gathered,
wings shivering in awe at the image of God—
perfect He created them, and
when the jaws of this foundation bite shut
only She can create this life, fashion
like Him in Her image as the man sleeps—
spent like the sun.
Gervanna Stephens is a girl from a small Caribbean island with congenital amputation. She is a poet, educator, and a proud Slytherin. Gervanna has had poems published in several print and online magazines, including Whirlwind Magazine, 12 Point Collective, Spillwords and Anti-Heroin Chic. She hates public speaking, has two sisters who are way better writers than her and thinks unicorns laugh at us when we say they aren’t real.
Happy to share the March to-read pile docket with Natalie Eilbert, author of the amazing, recently published poetry collection Indictus (full disclosure, I had the honor of co-editing this Noemi manuscript).
Arcadia, Indiana (a tragedy) by Toby Altman
The Police by Daniel Poppick
The Babysitter at Rest by Jen George
March issue of Poetry Magazine
MyOTHER TONGUE by Rosa Alcalá
The Pink Box by Yesenia Montilla
Barbie Chang by Victoria Chang
Broadax by Amy Lawless
Mean by Myriam Gurba
The Deaths of Henry King by Jesse Ball, Brian Evenson, and Lilli Carré
Benediction by Queen Alice Notley (reread)
While Standing in Line for Death by CAConrad
– NEWIES –
Tell Me How It Ends, Valeria Luiselli
Ziggurat, Peter Balakian
Begin with a Failed Body, Natalie J. Graham
Detroit Detroit, Anna Vitale
Mihyar of Damascus: His Songs, Adonis (trans. Adnan Haydar & Michael Beard)
Blank: Essays and Interviews, M. NourbeSe Philip
The Book of Margery Kempe
Work & Days, Tess Taylor
The Forage House, Tess Taylor
Ideal Suggestions: Essays in Divinatory Poetics, Selah Saterstrom
Broadax, Amy Lawless
– OLDIES –
Conference of the Birds, Farid Ud-din Attar; The Prophet, Khalil Gibran; The Blue and Brown Books, Wittgenstein; So What So That, Marjorie Welish; The Market Wonders, Susan Briante; Guns, Germs, and Steel, Jared Diamond; The Open Curtain, Brian Evenson (in progress); Confessions, St. Augustine; You, Me, and the Violence, Catherine Taylor; Ban en Banlieue, Bhanu Kapil; Dictee, Theresa Hak Kyung Cha; The Light of the World, Elizabeth Alexander; Dreaming of Ramadi in Detroit, Aisha Sabatini Sloan; The End of Something, Kate Greenstreet; On Lies, Secrets, and Silence, Adrienne Rich; The School Among the Ruins, Adrienne Rich; The Black Notebooks, Toi Derricotte
Our Daily Becoming
after Adam Clay
Like the same Mayagüez
rock my grandfather moves
from one side of his house
to the other, it should be easier
to distinguish inhales between
exhales, the hands that rebuild
his mother’s house, quenepas
spawning overnight life in green.
In these moments of living,
proof of flesh serves as a halo,
the shape of the cheapest bean
that feeds our daily becoming.
It should be easier to define
one’s path to the winning
lottery ticket, but dreams at
his feet only reflect the chasing
of beads around the rosary.
Eventually, he stops running
even if he misses it. O, how it
felt like flying he says. How he
now flaps his fingers filled with
nourishing fruit while respecting
the movement of rocks. Despite
that he says, finalmente, los
pichones le robarán el aire,
he will continue to respect
grass in his yard as the blades
always reach towards the sun.
Dimitri Reyes is a Puerto-Vegan educator, writer, artist, and community organizer from Newark, New Jersey. He is the recipient of the SLICE Magazine’s 2017 Bridging the Gap Award for Emerging Poets and a finalist for the Arcturus Poetry Prize by the Chicago Review of Books. Dimitri is a candidate in the Rutgers- Newark MFA program and his poetry is published or forthcoming in Acentos Review, Anomaly, Hawai’i Review, Kweli, and others.