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Untitled
by Hanny Michaelis
The body
that contents itself with
another body
since the one
became unavailable
must from time to time
turn a blind eye
to its own consciousness
as it escapes to a remote
half overgrown
corner of memory
and so betrays
the betrayal.
Translated from the Dutch by Judith Wilkinson
Untitled
by Hanny Michaelis
Over the years
a great deal has to be thrown out.
The notion, for instance,
that happiness is mild and enduring,
something like a southern climate
instead of a bolt of lightning
that leaves scars
cherished a lifetime.
Translated from the Dutch by Judith Wilkinson
VA in LB
by R. K. Daley
Seventh floor north has a view.
Industrial rooftops and
The pacific coast highway race
Straight away, a trail of synchronized lights,
Moving everyone out as quickly as possible,
Fast and effective.
The south side has a view.
Curved streets that filter people to shops,
Cafes and in the distance, across the park
The sea.
This view is for the ones
Expected to recover.
Colored lines run along the hallway floors
Guiding visitors to their destination.
Red is for the cafeteria;
Yellow is the laboratory,
Green leads to the intensive care and
Isolation wards.
The patients,
They already know where they're going.
The medication only worked to take
Away his hearing,
Leaving the infection behind.
Multidrug-resistant tuberculosis,
That's what the doctors called it.
Eight months on the north wing is what it was.
We spoke to each other through
A pad of paper, brought by the nurse.
"I'm proud that you were my father"
My final note read.
Is it wrong
To lie to a man on his deathbed?
Serenity
by R. K. Daley
Serenity, she is lonely.
Wisdom left her after
The threesome with Courage.
It's a situation she's accepted.
Courage, she's getting better.
Doesn't try to change
Everyone's life anymore,
Just does what she can for her own.
Wisdom, he's doing all right.
Hasn't been back to jail.
Can see Temptation coming
A long way off. Stays clear.
Temptation, he's still married.
Despite his cheating and lies.
It's due to Forgiveness,
She keeps taking him back.
Forgiveness, she's tired.
So much has been asked of her.
Him, the kids, the job,
At least she has Patience.
Patience, she's happy.
All her friends need her.
Seems like no one can
Get a thing done without her.
Birds at Bellagio
by Ingrid de Kok
Except for the undertaker-crows
sneering in sartorial black and gray
from elegant branches overhead,
the birds at Bellagio, small and large,
expect to die from gunshot wounds
on autumn afternoons.
So when Tony lifts his binoculars,
they shy from him as from a hunter,
into impenetrable green gloom,
their pewter throats sealing song
in the trussed cypresses that sightless guard
mass graveyards of Italian birds,
shot once for food, and then for sport
over three venal centuries, in peace and war.
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The Immunity from Blame
by Cecilia McMahon
My feline associate caught a sparrow,
Played with the terrified darling,
And brought his gift to my feet.
I tried to scold him for his instincts natural born.
I held the bird in my hands,
Frantically searching for a sign of
Injury caused by instinct.
Her wings were not broken.
Her legs pushed strongly off my palm.
I could find no flesh wound.
Still, something was askew.
Something was killing that delicate creature.
Somewhere there was pain.
Tonight we went out for coffee.
A simple, safe little trip,
But the conversation shifted and I was
Caught, unprepared.
You made me see my
Quaint life as something else,
Worse.
You magnified the holes,
Played hide and seek with the imperfections
Then brought me to my home.
Without a thought.
Now I'm stuck in my room
Not capable of blaming you for your
Natural born instinct.
I'm stuck holding myself in my hands
Searching frantically for a flesh wound.
I cannot locate, isolate the pain.
Instead I think of the sparrow
Fertilizing my backyard.
Vice Disguised
by Cecilia McMahon
The telephone is off the hook.
My shoes lie on the floor like
Wounded soldiers-waiting for backup.
And you are asking me why
In your slurred speech,
Why are we here? Why do we exist?
So philosophical when drunk.
I answer to the best of my hazy abilities and silently
Rejoice in the fact that we're
Talking, about real things.
But tomorrow, I will have a headache
And a whisper will make you shudder.
Dialogue for one
by Ken Barris
It’s crowded in the room.
We turn about and breathe
the vapours other people breathe.
Where are you going this summer?
My feet are broken alabaster,
unknown bits of the Venus de Milo.
That mask you wear was once
my face. I’m reminded that the skin
is delicate, prone to tear.
The Winter Trees
by Ana Jacobs
Bones picked clean by bitter jaws
Scratch the air to bleed the sky of life
And as the skin grows thin and breaks
Forgotten warmth pours down in rushing waves
To bathe the skeletons in spring.
Tulips
by David B. McCoy
unknown is the direction of this poem which might or might not resemble
the expansion of the universe ever since the big bang // bang and particles
started rushing apart from each other with space outside the universe
being filled like a small room being consumed by an expanding balloon
// balloons would have been objects surrealists would have written about
and perhaps reduced or enlarged into tulips // tulips circled my childhood
home and now circle the home my parents will die in // in a sincere
moment of passion I wish again to pick one flower and rub its smoothness
across the skin of my face…..
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