Category: National Poetry Month
-
Origin Stories – Kim Malinowski
Archeological Love Song by Kim Malinowski 1. Let my hands stumble into channers laugh sienna pebbles fingers rough scraped across mesh history sacred on palms. 2. Let my feet always press deep loved soil trowel whispered prayer. Sink into sediment love, stratigraphy tongued blessing. 3. Let me calculate our radials distance between my shovel your…
-
Origin Stories – Lakshman Bulusu
The Best Memorial by Lakshman Bulusu (On Robert Frost farm in Derry, NH) Derry farm bears a boy’s will, as he poetized his experiences on this farm. It retains its originality along with the verses. The kitchen with old cups and plates, The dining table with forks and spoons, the bedrooms, and more– each sight…
-
Origin Stories – Jessica Purdy
Ouroboros by Jessica Purdy Beginnings are snowscapes. Or skin never touched by the sun until birth. The end of a year is just as cheek-slapped as its opposite. In spring we wait. Like ice grits its teeth and succumbs to melting. New England summers that used to feel yearslong only relax the shoulders. Fleeting as…
-
Origin Stories – Ann Wallace
Spring Song by Ann Wallace The sirens wail the soundtrack of this silent spring a keening intertwined with birdsong by day, with my daughter’s dry, dry cough through the night, life and death bound together contrapuntal on and on so that I no longer hear the sirens, until I do. “Spring Song,” originally published in…
-
Origin Stories – Mary Makofske
Borders by Mary Makofske Drawn in ink or blood, they unspool from history to split mountains and valleys, meander in rivers that twist and turn, dragging their banks to new configurations, adding to, subtracting from, this dominion or that. Invisible, except when a fence or wall defines them, ramparts that open only through drawbridge or…
-
Origin Stories – Patricia Ware
Creation Story by Patricia Ware After Rita Dove When she was born, the sun fled from despair and the earth gleamed. She was a fresh brush waiting for permission to paint the sky. When she was young, she sliced up sad till it bled. There were ghosts to flee from, daydreams for delight. She was…
