A hundred men bear one girl’s bones
to catacombs. In her sarcophagus,
loose legs clink against a halfling pelvis,
pebble hard. Through cobbled tributaries,
bearers flow along a riverbed last lapped
by her red waters. . . .
I happened upon the poems “Accidental” and “Keep” by Jocelyn Sears in BOAAT today. They’re the sort of poems that, on first read, you just tumble through them, pulled by the gravity of the story, imagery, and language, and find yourself at the bottom of them breathless, covered in leaves, and eager for another ride down.
From “Accidental”:
Read her BOAAT poems here, and find some of her other work here.
The “Five Poems in Five Days” thing has been going around Facebook, so all my lovely poet friends are posting lovely poetry. Today I’m loving this gem that appeared in Stirring’s Volume 15, Edition 5 issue.
Day they proved the God Particle I saw
the small spot I was, how I walk this town,
same pattern the universe expands from,
too old to see everything a sign.
If my house burned down tomorrow morning, & if I & my wife
And son stood looking on at the flames, & if, then
Someone stepped out of the crowd of bystanders
And said to me: “Didn’t you once know. . . ?” No. But if
One of the flames, rising up in the scherzo of fire, turned
All the windows blank with light, & if that flame could speak,
And if it said to me: “You loved her, didn’t you?” I’d answer,
Hands in my pockets, “Yes.” And then I’d let fire & misfortune
Overwhelm my life.
“Fire Tree” by Tim Dolby, enamel paint and gold leaf on glass
Today’s “reading” is more of a “watching.” Words Dance features four videos of slam poetry around women’s issues today: “Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them” by Brenna Twohy (or maybe it’s “Fantastic Breasts and Where to Find Them” — the internet likes it both ways), “Shrinking Women” by Lily Myers, “The Type” by Sarah Kay (my personal favorite in this group), and “Cab Rides and the Morning After” by Alysia Harris. Really powerful stuff. My inner feminist (and my outer one) definitely feel satiated.
This is such a beautiful issue I’m not really sure what to feature, so here are a few things:
She watches my hands for me
and I try not to let them shake,
the force of blood pushing
through veins.
When I drop the needle, she tells me
secrets can keep you safe,
but never as safe as trust.
Occasionally light from other cars muses through the foggy windows. After it’s over, Michael can hear sweat sliding down a cheek. He reaches out but nothing’s there. It takes him hours to find the word pain blooming inside him like pleasure.
Winter Tangerine has a fascinating issue that features poems alongside their earlier drafts, as well as the poet talking about the evolution of the piece.
Drop a marble on the doormat;
gravity will attend.
And her final words on editing:
At any rate, I decided this poem was finished when I could find no more tangles through which to comb.
Process is such an interesting thing, and as individual as a thumbprint. It often even varies widely from poem to poem. It’s great to get inside the mind of a poet, and behind the scenes with their work.