1 When the dust settled and the sky opened up into a blue and white tapestry, one who had their eyes glued to the sky would not have known what had happened yesterday. It would only be when they took their eyes off the sky and onto the wet streets that they would realize what…
Category: 2 Rules The Magazine
Mornings
Late to rest, early to rise, she gets bored and her old hips have got nothing to do. She carves a single notch on the baseboard each and every time she dreams of you. Thick-mattressed, four-posters are for lovers. She gave away your bed to the neighbors, and now their dog sleeps atop the covers….
A Second Chance at Love
The fountain of youth. A second chance in life. That’s what they said. John and I needed that second chance. We paid our dues. We raised our kids. We were ready to reclaim our life. John had the procedure before me. He sent me a photo, but we promised not to see each other before…
“I Felt a Funeral In My Brain” and “The Poets”
I Felt a Funeral In My Brain And the ghosts, as they flooded through my veins dragged a coffin made of bone through vines of tendon and muscle torn I feel the scraping in my chest hauntings deep within my flesh thorns of knowing blind my eyes cursed or blessed with second sight the ghouls,…
Trans Day of Rememberance
This post about Trans Day of Remembrance comes to us from Kieryn J. McCann. You can read Kieryn’s amazing poem “Kayla Marie” here.–ed. Today, November 20th, is internationally acknowledged as Transgender Day of Remembrance (TDoR). It is a day of collective mourning for the trans community. The first TDoR vigil was held in 1999 by…
Ways of Saying “And”
I tried to answer my first wifein truth(e)that, yes, she is selfishand that this is good:Less wear, Few wounds, No rind where ought be ‘life.’But she gnashed and wailed,her Protestant iceberg atremble,and I curled back my wordswith the bad faith of the midway lover. We’d matched tattoos—still do, I’d think:Black ink ampersands,near or on our hands.Hers: a…
“I Want to be Soft” and Other Poems
I want to be soft around the edges Blue skies filled with coffee lady bugs dancing in my heart stomach full of butterflies Swirling around my lungs made of paper Soft Soft Soft like the words whispered into the night ‘I dont wanna be made of stone’ Begging the gods Praying to the moon the…
To the Shopkeeper on the Corner in East Jerusalem
The author of this essay requested that their name be withheld.–ed From the first day I moved into the neighborhood until the day I left in a hurry, I went to your shop. Your brother was always the only one there, serving the neighborhood kids who would come with their mother’s money clutched tightly in…
Tending at the Crossroad
For Halloween night, please enjoy a bit of fun with us as regular contributor Eve Brackenbury shares a poem based on the popular TV show Supernatural. As you’ll see, the poem doesn’t require a working knowledge of the show. Though a willingness to sell your soul at the crossroad in order to obtain your heart’s…
Losing your Grip
The coffee cup shattered on the kitchen tiles, shards exploding to all corners of the room. The thick black liquid turned amber on the sand-coloured floor, an elegant splat that moulded itself into something like a crescent moon. Alastair stood there for a moment, bemused. This had never happened before. Oh he had knocked a…