Category: Uncategorized

First Star
Fabrice Poussin

Fashioned by the thickness of the dark
I lay unconscious for time unknown when
A spark ignited the void to jettison a soul
Upon the original lightning.

An illusion of what I may soon become
Began to grow in a vertiginous twirl
Like a fiery dust of minuscule atoms
Without boundaries yet.

Not a cry nor a whimper in the immense vacuum
I could find no anchor to attach a fate
Thrown to the mercy of birthing asteroids
Per chance to encounter a mate.

An infinite line traced a path through the mass
Solid as a rock fluid as streaming molasses
The only proof that perpetual motion finally
Had come to exist.

I surrendered what I sensed was the shell of a destiny
To the passing arrow sole guide in the emptiness
And I found something accelerating nearby
It took me on a surreal journey.

Thus, what I am now joined with the light
Dim star within the deep of oblivion
To make one amid so many new creations
As the world came to be from nothing to the first star.

Did You Miss Them, Elisi?
Whitney-Faith Smith

Would you imagine
the village of teepees
when you sat on your front porch?
Did you whisper Cherokee
to the wood-burning stove
as you swirled Granddaddy’s supper,
hoping it would understand?
Would you Stomp Dance with maples,
remembering the laughter and calls
of your forgotten family?
I can only ask questions to this page,
but honestly I wanted to say to you, I’m sorry.

I see your face, creased brow, eyes made
sharper by your rising cheek bone,
stark black hair standing out
in the grayscale photograph.
I know the rest of your people
were forced to vanish,
the burdened white man
sealing them behind walls of pine,
then corralling them out,
whips and guns poised at their backs
to keep them stumbling
to Oklahoma.

I’m sorry that you could have missed them
each time the stars came out,
each time you felt the garden’s cool clay
between your fingers,
each time you saw a Cherokee Rose
climbing over the oak.
And I thank you for being my Elisi,
though I was never taught
your name.

A Thrift Store Ball of Yarn
Sarah Bramblett

I. Casting On
Once, I sat on the hallowed shelves of Hobby Lobby.
I listened to young girls beg grandmothers
for the aquamarine with the thread of silver.
Expectant mothers bought in bulk the baby blue.

Workshop days brought in crowds.
I watched knitting needles find their match
fall in love, make something beautiful.
Burnt orange and I earned a clearance badge.

More hands picked me up in December.
The attention made me tangle.
A frequent shopper, with graying roots, frayed ends
used a coupon to bring me home.

II. Working in a St st (k every round), knit 12 rnds
Would I be a winter hat for little Hannah?
A criss-cross scarf for Granny Sue?
An amigurumi frog to comfort teething Sammy?
If stitches were days, my benefactor required
forty-seven rounds to remember me.

I should have known. I’m the scratchy,
utilitarian material made for rags,
not beauty. She printed “Easy Crochet Dishcloth”
from Pinterest. But she spilled coffee
on it and on me; all the counts blurred.

Before the bitterness of being stained,
I tasted the sugary sweetness of aspiration.
My strands were knotted with care
not a thread unaccounted. Still riding potential,
possibility, I was plopped in the minivan.

From soccer practice to the kid’s choir,
I just rolled under the driver’s chair. Forgotten?
Slimy cheerio crumbs decorated my edges.
I picked up some of the dog’s hair.
Fifty-nine stitches in transit.

III. Join, taking care not to twist sts
She discovered me again in a parking lot.
With her mutter, my last benediction,
s h e u n r a v e l e d m e.
Dropped me here, the generic nonprofit.
I’m not even good enough for GoodWill.
Scotch tape on my skin announced
that I’m worth only fifty cents.
From here, I’ll begin again, with the quirkier cast
Of discarded friends—the VCR and the amateur
painting of fruit share my shelf.
Rpt rnd 1
on day 403

A Pile to Burn
Anna Lundy

your hardworking fingers
yellowed by time
i watch them do their
little dance around the
nutcracker.

everyone’s living
their quiet little lives.
small town. my town.
but it feels so quiet – so cold
now that you’re gone.

the warm light
emanating from your
window where you sat
makes me feel that
you’re home.

you left a pile to burn outside
near your garden. just a few twigs, forming a myriad. a family. the creation of your feeble hands. as the sun sets,
the light from your window glows on.

11.27.17
Leah-Joy Smith

You’re not always going to bloom.
Sometimes, new life
Will grow slowly.
Yes, slowly.
But isn’t that what we want?

All good growth
Is slow. So slow
It can’t be seen.
Good growth runs down
Deep before it slowly
Lifts in praise.

The stretching, moving,
Making of roots,
It hurts. And often
No one sees it.
But that longleaf pine still
Needs her roots
To survive
The fire.

And so do you.
So do I.

The Time Traveler
Destiny Killian

I lay back and time
stands still
Light particles swirl around me
eyes shut and
mind wide open
The past stretches out
Like putty in my hands
I grab hold and
suddenly, I am transported
Another moment
another world
a long forgotten
version of myself

We face each other
I don’t recognize her
Is she really me
This minute we’re living in
I’ve lived a thousand times before
I want to stop her
No, don’t say that
Tell him how you feel
Please don’t do this to us
But it’s no use
she can’t hear me
I am only a ghost here
trespassing on a past
that can’t be changed

When I reawake
the present greets me again
like a familiar friend
I have traversed lifetimes
to no avail
What else is left
Another journey
through time
and space
I’ll skip to the future
In hopes of finally finding
A new me, a new life where
The happy ending might
Last longer
than one eternity

Who waits for me
In the faraway place
that I have yet to reach
Which version of me
will greet me there
I wonder
What would this theoretical me
say to her past self
How many days, nights
endless hours
did she spend
travelling
to get to me

Resurgam
Destiny Killian

I thought I’d be
your pretty bride-to-be
not the madwoman
locked
in the prison of my thoughts
where you
abandoned me
Shush, a dirty little secret
is swept up in the attic
a memento of a past
that longed to be forgotten
Better not tell
your darling little bird
She might not look so kindly
at her master
once she sees his cruelty
An animal in a cage
kept for your own amusement
Sad woman, bad woman
What am I to the world
to you
What am I to do
with all this rage left inside
Don’t remind me of how I once
loved you, you liar
Passion sparks my soul
my heart is ablaze
I’ll set this whole world
on fire

A Firebird’s Lovesong
Jesse Lee

Dressed in smoke and embers,
I learned to glow to keep
You warm.
But warmth kindled light
And you held me like ice
Against the wildfire
I was learning to feed.
You tried to smother
The flames,
Knowing that what
Rose from the ashes
Would no longer be
Yours.

Elderly Couple
Jay Chambers

He had his pacemaker replaced Friday
She wouldn’t leave his side

I was at the hospital in February
As his chest heaved
Tears pooled in her eyes
At the threat of parting

I saw her caress his cheek
And how she replaced his hat with a flourish
For the journey to the I.C.U.

On their honeymoon in ‘62
They outran the wedding party
And arrived at their hotel
Half-past midnight

Last night at half-past midnight
She replaced his oxygen tank
And settled back down to sleep
As 1962 fades back into dark
And eternity shines ahead.

Botanical Beauty
Margie Monde