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rj equality: #selfie

I could just shave up to my ankles Said to me by a man who doesn't Read but was reading a magazine I left a towel on the stove & stepped Into the shower & started to shower Last night I ate a handful of almonds And sang to someone I don't know Last night I knew how to live w/ it And forgot to write out the directions A new shirt came in & a new roast I'm trying real hard to listen to others I try really hard to also listen to you The best poem was written in 1969 We spent so much money on it too

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roberto santiago: falling out of

What would happen if,  as we walked along the shore rocks, I just fell in?  What if by fell I mean jumped?  Would you follow me down the rabbit hole or ask for help?  And when you asked for help (which I am sure you would) would you stand there watching me become bubbles  until someone walked by or would you run and yell until  you decided you did all you could? I could have told you sooner, but I hadn't then realized  that falling out would come to me as easily as it later would. It was like a wave, or rather a changing tide the sky was thick with summers to come  The children dancing closer and closer to the surface of the river tossed loose stones and beer bottles into the river Each rock that dammed the shore bursting green with river-salt  and moss like wet velvet and you held me tighter then. 

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rj equality: selfie with grace cathedral

For Andy

We shucked rocks at the snake We picked posies -- I want to write Hyacinths, but they were posies -- We named things & took notes At the reactions to their names. Once you caught a sunfish & I saw six hatchlings slither Into Put-In-Bay. Once you Caught a bluegill & made me Take out the hook & I didn't Think to say it then but I thought : Fuck you & felt so bad afterwards I washed my own mouth out. Tonight we're drunk again But talking -- well, texting -- About our parents for probably The very first time. You say : I've got a song stuck in my head : Me too, I say, except it isn't a song It's us walking under Grace Cathedral Completely out of breath & sweaty.

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chelsea coreen: that time i ruined your hot tub party

I can’t remember why we drank so much Corona in the belly of December. Why we floated through the house in wet bathing suits, daring Jack Frost to go shot for shot. Bobbed up and down the pong table like drunk buoys. I swam two six-packs deep, then surfaced. When it was time to pass out, all of the couches upstairs were harbored by naked animals and I woke up in the basement. His rasping cough echoed for miles. I don’t remember why he called me a stupid cunt. But that I crashed into him. My fists caked with salt. I had every intention of breaking his nose. Watch the red fly from his face like a fountain. Two large boys dragged me out of the room, limbs thrashing, foam in my mouth. They put me up to sleep in the guest bedroom. There were bagels for breakfast and I drank two glasses of orange juice. On my way out the door, I stole a half-full bottle of Captain Morgan. The boy grunted, but didn’t stop me. 

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dalton day: senescence

for myself

Since when has everyone been getting older at the same time? You’re just trying to get to the library. You’re just trying to get to where you are. You’re just trying to get it. It didn’t occur to you  to think that just this morning  your mother was half your age.  Can you cry digitally yet?  The stars aren’t doing anything differently, and yet you still want  them to accept your apology. It didn’t occur to you that engines break down well before the highway does. You only want the laughing to be real.  You are the only one that isn’t  a child again. You only want everything to live forever.

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molly kat: max is three

I had a green chair under my hut before I drove north.   Max told me it went to the mountains because it was lonely.   Me too.

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kayleigh wanzer: thirteen weeks

1. consider everything: consider beginnings, consider endings, consider how both kind of feel the same way. when i think of us loving each other i only remember those bright blue autumn days, as if it never even rained. i know that isn't true.  2. there's something poetic about choosing the path of no choice.  3. if i came over and presented you with a peach, would you know what i mean?  4. vocal chords, finger nails, blood.  5. it's getting harder to stay vague.  6. when i saw you walking with her down the street all i could think of was: at least you both walk the same way--sideways, quickly paced.  7. there is a time and a place for dramatic irony. right now isn't one of them, please turn off "only the good die young." 

8. i don't really want to be quiet but i can't think of much else to say. 

9. i know it rained, why can't i remember rain? let's not get caught up in nostalgia. i am no longer the person who loved you. 

10. maybe we are the seasons: you are winter with settling, frozen resignation. i am spring with strong wind, thawing dedication. 

11. it didn't hurt, but it still felt like something. 

12. i want to mention the peach again. do you understand now? hold one in the palm of your hand--feel soft fuzz, feel bruises, it's smaller than you thought it would be, isn't it?  13. there will be no mourning, there will be only relief.

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donora hillard: from loon

Your father was what he was. That last night and me on the floor, last night and the blood (obligatory). Anyway. Who cares whose fist it is as long as it is beautiful. Daughter, I learned tenderness. I learned how to say, “Why are we whispering?   Because there are chandeliers.”

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jemma jorel lester: bluster

I only want to stand alone in this unruly wind Let the cool rage twist my hair Blow it in fits from my nape and Whip strands along my cheeks Carry my breath far and up and away   There was never such welcome weather Bitter taste on my tongue from    too sweet kisses Another night of fragrant decay I awoke to your wailing Made quick work of the window And crawled into your wild embrace   I learned long ago Not all hugs should be warm and soft There are moments where the    raw and raging Are superior lovers and friends   Today I stood in the divine and violent gusting Luxuriated in the sounds of fresh starts For all that stales    will be loosened from its home    thrown from its legs And carried up and far and away

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caroline crew: pastoral in another river

to whom the river spoke is the title of every manifesto  written since 1760   a year I remember as a hillside unyielding to a violet light most often draped against me   here the good shepherd unaliened though full to gulping of stars and now the virgin continent   little piercing its pastel plain silence retaining this holding pattern I am carefully etched to quiet

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lewis levenberg: untitled

the companies and I have squared our weekly debts. clean dishes are set to rest in racks. everyone has eaten. all who sleep, sleep.   somewhere(   a revolution whispers     parties rumble     tragedy or triumph ) what is left to sing? 

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chelsea coreen: this poem is not about you

Or your mouth. Or where it's been. This poem is about a snowstorm in July. A galaxy of lazy, copper   stars. Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not the storm. The stars don’t make me think about your teeth. No, I don’t miss   St. Marks. Its handfuls of dirty money. The sink in your kitchen was filthy. This isn’t about your kitchen.   Or what we did there. I met someone else. He’s nothing like you. This isn’t a poem about him, either. 

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alex corey: moon

Moon, tonight we are both full and hiding. You behind clouds, and me behind closed doors. How does it feel to be fat again? I feel tired from food. Your dim glow spreads over the clouds like a mother who’s love can’t escape from her chest. I was afraid of you as a kid. The song you whisper sounds like sleep, which sounds like death, which sounds like nothing. Tonight, I’ll stand on my heels and reach to you.

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roberto santiago: the night the only street lamp on my block fell

The sidewalk was littered with long nights and shorter days.  My path, the one I took everyday to get to work, was more  winding, less paved. And at the end of the street, you stood.  As your lips parted, I instantly understood the departed. I would have forgiven you many more times than you needed,  but you no longer wanted me to. No apologies. 

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dana jaye: another time

i thought of your arms today i thought of your

eyes they are drawings of planets was it love

that blinded my cat the heart wants only

to close her aching she goes on for the sake

of the body she lives in this is you and me

on the couch near dawn and the sun is open again

dilating and i think you are waiting for a better

time (retrograde) we are moving apart

all of our connections are going away

the sky is cloudy cataract and reminds me

of timing a sort of fresh grey

i thought of your hands no remorse or anything

they have weather in them the day is what is outside

of the window i am a vessel or vase or something

rain on me

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bryanna lee: chicken

Let’s rediscover the language of this strange world. Say “chicken”  to a child and witness. She will giggle with such joy that the cluck of the consonants will feel new to us too. Watch her eyes widen to “Valentine” and redefine the meaning of a heart-shaped card. We cannot tell her we love her with truffles or roses. She won’t understand the meaning of a candlelit dinner. Let’s say and feel “snow,” that long O  of winter and the soft finish that promises water and the beginning of spring. Let’s do everything like it’s the first time. I can only really give you my one true body, my one unpronounceable self.

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nell b: self love

I find it odd that you are the last person on my mind to send love to. I suppose I’m angry with you for the same reason I’m angry with everyone—you don’t always use the right words. But Nell, today you watched a boy beat himself up with his own words. He looked at you with wet, sunken eyes and you wanted to say to him Even when I hate you, I love you. You wanted to tell him that his worst enemy was not you or his father but those words he kept saying: failure. No point. No matter how hard I try. He bangs his head against the wall during class, rolls his eyes up to the ceiling and locks his jaw and shakes his head like suffering, like silent wails. And when he does speak, he explodes, bursting and fading in the room like fireworks. Once I had a dream I adopted him. I think I wanted to find a way to love him without conditions. Maybe I should adopt myself.