Author: fpoussin

september’s unabridged journal
Alayna Welker

Record hot temperatures,

the glistening of travelers’ brows—

while the pitter-patter of their feet

carry them toward destinations

unknown to me

  and maybe

      even to them, too.

 

I have often imagined life

in

           their

                                shoes.

built for weathered life

willingly on their toes,

and ready to be pushed

to limits beyond anything

that I know.

 

This only seems

                  to make

                    me wonder,

          what my shoes

             must say

         about

      me.

Roots of Paradise
Fabrice Poussin

The scent is familiar as the first breath of every dawn

it permeates the corridor to the king’s domain

a room warm with a most recent feast.

 

Years come rushing back in a single moment

musty smell of the ancient wooden cabinets

aroma of the meals of eternal Sundays.

 

But the soul is too small for many lifetimes

trinkets left over the rows of dusty shelves

journeys to lands close and far away.

 

The power is invincible of this undying past

pulling in the actors of so many performances

into this space where destinies were made.

 

The festivities continue in the memories of all

the air is thick with visitors and guests

where they find the roots of paradise.  

Song of a Traveling Preacher Woman
Renee Emerson

Jonah ran the other way,
but not Jareena Lee.

She stood in the pew to save
the preacher’s piety.

She let the sermon roll a river
off her tongue, a spirit wave;

she poured out the word of God
on every head to save.

If a stone can cry, why
not a woman, why
not a woman as immovable,
as indestructible, as stone?

How to Dance a Cross Medley
Kristin Towe

Have you ever danced a cross medley?

By this, of course, I mean
     did you ever once feel the hot asphalt dig into the tender flesh of your feet
     and plead with the nebulous cloud goddess for ascension?

I too have trudged the tedious black-and-yellow,
      but that was before I learned to tango with telephone wires
      before I dipped my toe into the ocean sky and was submerged.

What I am saying is clear
     and fresh as the street-side daisy, uprooted by Mother Wind
     and pirouetting through the expansive blue like a young girl at her first ballet recital.

Freedom. Is it not the wish of every maiden, strapped to the bomb of love?
     I came to the city in search of a man and a dream.
     Instead, I learned only how to tend my burns (aloe works well).

I begged the street vendor for directions,
     but he insisted on giving me road names and subway routes.
     Sir, please, how do I wander into the expansive blue?

As you can see,
I am weary of asphalt promises
of tending burns
of unremembered dreams.
Might you blow your smoke in this direction? I am familiar with the taste of ashes.

I asked for waltzes and tangos,
not the daily concrete death march.
How small the city seems now,
now that I have fallen in love with the sky.
Telephone poles make the loveliest of dancing partners.

Quiet. The blue queen is calling to me once more, and I shall not wander the desert forever.

Harvest Celebration  
Whitney-Faith Smith

Papa used to sit with his dulcimer across his lap,
playing songs of the trees, long forgotten
Mama would dance like the leaves of autumn  
arms spread like wings.
or so they have told me.

Now Papa holds a baby across his knees,
his arms filled by a yawning, tiny human
he uses his voice to 
release the music swirling like a 
storm at sea.
Mama’s soft hand is holding mine
she twirls me like a dandelion
our skirts flapping in the wind.

Papa always says she is as beautiful 
as the black-blue sky strewn 
with luminous stars
and I am his pink sunshine,
filling his world with light. 

A Thank You Letter
Jesse Lee

Thank You, Almighty God
For taking the color
Of fertile earth
Rich, dark soil
The color of the Jordan Valley
And weaving it into my hair

For taking a summer
Leaf from a forest pool
That strange, damp color
Caught between green and brown
A tiny drop of lost Eden
And dyeing my eyes its hue

For taking the legacies
Of faithful Ruth
Of strong Esther
Of patient Elizabeth
And fashioning my bones
In their shape

For taking the songs
And poetry
The words and ability
To shape them
An echo from the mouth
Of David
And giving me my joy

Thank You, God of Creation
God of mountains
Of seas
Of sky and earth
And wonders
For believing the world
Needed me