This genre of lips

Yeses with fingers‹-unblousing, undressing

Skin, her truss. No need

For flight here, except

Air wrapped in irridescent

Feathers. Or, a verb’s splendid long

Bone all lit up for

This new, unbuttoned birdology. Tiny

Chances, coins tossed: a

Firmament above, arousing

Power below. Let

It come.

m

Lisa Bowden

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THE BOAT by Lisa Cole

February 28, 2011

THE BOAT
M
The half-eaten pomegranate
is losing its color, turning brown on the plate.
This piece of fruit– of course–is only a metaphor
for the tired heart: the portal to a whole new underworld
full of ghosts dressed in rainbow colors.

I remember the crook of your arm,
an erotic place in which I longed to live forever.

Your skin is the water, I am the boat–
washed clean, finally.

m

Lisa Cole

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click to hear: EMPATHIC ATTUNEMENT by Valyntina Grenier

EMPATHIC ATTUNEMENT

I LOVE YOUR BRAIN

Here. Will you take this stone
and make a wish, then give it to the miller.
She’ll make you a page
while I sleep so the robot
can change me. I’ll wish for ice cream.

ICE CREAM

Surrounded by these columns, each heart-shaped capitol crowned w/ a brain,
I’d like to give you this tiny robot.
Hold it like a river stone,
here, in the palm of your hand, while I light the page.
Here’s to watching the sky change w/ my love, the miller!

“I’ll STAND BY YOU” SANG THE MILLER

waiting in line for a scoop of ice-cream.
She hid a love note on a page
of our notepad for me to find. Her brain
suits my heart like a precious stone
in its circle of rose. I hope she’ll forgive me this robot.

DEAR DA VINCI ROBOT

Thank you for helping the miller,
her Quern-stone
was blocking our path to the ice-cream
parlor. Origami brain-
I’m so glad you answered our page.

PAGE

Thank you for being brave enough to use a robot
to remove the endometriosis and organs that pained me, that seized my brain,
my spirit, the heart of the miller.
Now we can argue about ice-cream,
a simple scoop vs. blended w/ toppings on a cold stone.

DEAR DR STONE

Thank you for wondering. I feel as light as a page
descending in air. I feel hope. Eating ice-cream
can bring about joy. I stopped for some on my way to the miller.
It helped ease my brain.

“Ice-cream,” I sang at the cornerstone,
“Brain and Heart–” right here on the front page:
“Robot surgeon grants a wish,” for my love, Jane Miller!

m

m

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m
WHAT IF I SAID
M
Stealing glances and trying to

look deep enough

Love speaks in its own

strange ways

Afraid that I might wake up

and break this dream

I tried drowning myself

into absence

but you – you are present all the time

And now I roam with a poem

stuck in my chest

it doesn’t let me breathe

but I can’t pen it down either

Three words that I need to say

and maybe you need to hear

m

m

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PHOTOBOOTH, NORTHAMPTON

If some long unborn friend looks at photos in pity, we say, sure we were happy, but it was not in the wind. – Muriel Rukeyser, Tree of DaysM

every year
we come here
to picture
our existence,
as women, as lovers
M
back at home
adorn refrigerator
with the miniature
black-and-white prayer strips
goofball poses, kisses
M
and, my favorites –
the two of us
side by side, head to head
looking plainly out
at this world
without a mirror

M

M

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SUDDEN SOUNDS

Shirked and non-plussed,
stalked and apprehended,
I suspended disbelief,
and identified abandon.

We have run
hot and cold
and underground
in conversation
to elegant frequencies of the supermind.
In one fragile second,
of a stupid barbequeue

a crack in my flimsy patria
opens up a
soft, crushing tear

you fit into, with such momentary abandon,

While I wait, for
some witless fury to engage
late silence over fall, over winter,
on an unmanned planet,
populated with my lesser instincts.

Frigid and untapped,
destroyed and then rescued,
I am trying to avoid the garbage
barely contained within these decent homes, these fields and flowers and debris and human waste and denims and ghettos and endless streets without names upon names upon names i am

calling, later, out to you:

Just stay, and stare!
as two different countries come by, playing two different musics
the sudden sounds tear up the streetside silence between us,
by erroneous and irrational response.

m

m

Marisa Prietto

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