ashley trabue

[ashleytrabue-blog]

There is a beauty that engulfs, that replaces the morning― no sun on the sidewalk, no air to breathe, and the early mist held in place as if by hands, but not mine, not me, gone, not my slow morning thoughts, gone with the row homes and me, down to the footprint, gone, barely holding on to even the words: cherry blossom, cherry blossom, cherry blossom.

David Ebenbach, 'First Day of Spring, First Spring'

http://www.thrushpoetryjournal.com/july-2014-david-ebenbach.html

[ashleytrabue-blog]

Give me your three doubles in a row stealing Adderall from your little brother forgetting to brush your teeth tired your make this disposable razor last two months pick up every penny on the sidewalk debating tasteful stripping poor your huddled in the armpits of each other on the G train together in fetal position on speaker with financial aid loosely in bars across this rotting milk city masses yearning to beat My Beaten, I am your wretched mother arms and legs open waiting to receive you into me like cat hair in my everything I am your shitty shaman dance monkeys clap your unwashed hands throw rice into my ears as if this were a wedding wherein the priest bones the groom in the pulpit lick it, all of it This year, this here year, right here will submit to us our crops will welt the backs of pigs stiletto mongrels and schmucks in slacks Every body 1,2 schlepp I love it when we one-two schlepp every body 1,2 schlepp we about to Don key kong.

http://brooklynquarterly.org/hearing-impaired/Grace Dilger, This Is for the Hearing Impaired

[ashleytrabue-blog]

GESTATION Laura Jent

This was ideally begun as two faint lines drawn by science and pink, as promised. Your father! He rolled over and went lovingly back to sleep. I began the long haul of keeping my eyes open, dreaming that way. Soon, I was sick, begging for strange things. Mangoes, a tribute to your grand­ mother, nothing else to explain it. She loved them and she’ll never hold you, so we watched as I grew, with an eye for her approval. We found that your heart beating was like music piped in from galaxies far off, and perfectly arranged. Once, we were worried and in the hospital, they found you at last on their miracle of green screens, and you clapped. You amazed us into laughter. And later, love had me lying in bed, afraid to move, but you knew––when the monitors were the talking cord between us, and the staff worried over me as I faded in and out of your near­life, you stayed strong and steady like a star. I clung to the shorelines of wakefulness, like a small clam in the surf, and you were the sailor’s light, full of the yellow promise of sunshine, guiding me home, for love and for mangoes, for anything more than the dying. You kept me here. And then you were crying, Penelope, alive.

https://broadzine.files.wordpress.com/2014/08/mothers4.pdf

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Eileen Myles