Q: Where do you work?A: I’ll tell ya.Q: Where do you live?A: Attempting to live at the intersection of stoicism and chill, wherever that is.Q: What did you have for dinner?A: It needed a little more depth.Q: What are you watching?A: A new car wasn’t even $10,000.Q: What are you reading?A: Sometimes you grow up…
Tag: Poetry
“When the Future Appears”
Remember, the time of year when the future appears like a blank sheet of paper -Jackie Kay “Promise” “Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes…” -Rent “Seasons of Love” Theater kids, or at least theater kids of a certain age know exactly how much time that is. Maybe you know even if you weren’t…
“Puzzle Box Rattling” and “An Oil Painting of an Abyssal Surface”
Because of the intricate layout of these two poems, we had to upload them as images rather than text. That makes them opaque to screenreaders, so we included the full text of the poem in the caption and again in the alternative text. -ed. Puzzle Box Rattling Nitya Budamagunta Nitya Budamagunta is a BFA creative…
“Secret” and “A Box from the Storage Shelf”
Secret the gate creaks open beckoning. pavement turns to rubbery mulch When we enter. silent save for the creak of Swings black but for the colors on the slide and the rusty play truck. we swing swing towards the stars and the blinding orb and we’re ready to end the adventure when a new door…
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….
“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,…
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…
Home and other Poems
Home wherever you lead,I hope your love leavesa map engraved upon myheart that I can trace witha touch and follow back tolinen sheets and tucked awayweekends that suckle awaySundays dry, until all we haveto drink is our bubbly laughterand fall asleep at dawn, oncewe’ve tired of sharing breadand conversation and tradingsecret glances, whisper touches,I ache…
Inheriting Dust
I was always told you were a hermit living out your days on a decrepit shanty boat. An old relic who shut his self away from the world. I reckon your hands were calloused with the repetition of mending crawdaddy traps, honing fish knives, and polishing a rusting gun barrel. Inheriting your old trunk, I…