Tag: published
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Butter Pecan
For as long as I can remember, the chair across from the television was where I would sink into for safety. She was there, my grandmother, sitting on the couch: half Indian-style, her left foot curled under her right knee and her other leg stretched out, hanging off the edge of the cushions. On commercials,…
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Absolution
I forgave to forget what you would not let go. Even then, it still felt wrong to right what you pushed as I tried to pull away. Won’t you let me say that this, it is not easy, forgiving the living. But, know this: I owe you nothing else . Sometimes it all comes down…
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Dependent
I’ve little to say to you; I’m still finding new places to hide. You lurk in the middle of the room, oblivious to your harm, and I find myself in the shadows, hoping you do not see me. Our roles seem reversed to anyone…
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Dear Parents:
Strike the soft skin of your children; leave marks. Go on: show them how hard they must become to be like you. Mold them to be mindless: coach them to react with fists; make them believe that words have little worth. Shape them into an almighty monster: modern man. Destroy their purity and imagination by…
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Drought
I witch for water. Walking blindly, I concentrate on my effort. I am desperate, you say. You watch for rain. Staring blindly, you believe it will come. You have faith, you say. It is in your nature to trust in what you need. Nature does not need you. I witch for water; you watch for…
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Kathryn
1200 miles from home on the southeast side of Vermont, I sat at a table outfitted with strawberry rhubarb pie and sweet tea good enough for any southerner. Below, a blind mare bumped into the side of the barn-turned-home of a woman who had invited me into her way of life long before I left…
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Eleven Years
He gets confused sometimes— gets up, walks a few steps, –pauses– looks blankly ahead then turns around, sits back down slowly. The doctor says it’s dementia; it’s just the beginning, really. It’s in his eyes, though: everything. He’s not forgotten anything; I’ve not, either— not the way he sat with me quietly through the years:…
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Swallow
I forget my reasons for staying, saying instead it’s what’s right– wrong, again. Again, I swallow it all: the anger, the regret. But it won’t stay down, as I do. It rises, likes the hot air you speak, corrodes the ceiling, takes my breath, leaves me gasping, choking on what you could not swallow. The indignant, after all, have no room for their own mistakes. Originally published at Melancholy Hyperbole, found here.
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Interview with Rachel Nix, Issue 6’s Poetry Contest Winner
Originally posted on Bop Dead City: Our first interview for this go-around is with Rachel Nix, who was so kind as to give us two poems: “Kathryn,” which won the contest, and “Acreage.” It’s always nice to get submissions from fellow Southerners (even though I’m really just a carpetbagger), especially gracious Alabamians like Rachel. Describe…
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Split
I draw fault lines in your quake, shaking at the symmetry in which we are divided; you are not the world I once woke to, and I am no more the earth you dug into with callused hands that craved our growth. There is only air between us, dense as it is, obscuring our views,…
Rachel Nix 