Poem Of The Day

Nic Alea

I think I am the river, no.
I think I am the alphabet, no.
I think I am in the back of
the car slamming my head against
the seat, I think I am screaming, no,
careless, maybe, I think I am too fast
over this canyon, I think my tape player
is stuck singing about the rain or
a field or no, this is a canyon and canyons
have the once upon a time river stuck to
the bottom, I’m going to hit the bottom
and it’s going to burn like the summer
and we feel good peeling the dead skin
off our shoulders and I press my thumb
into your chest to watch my imprint glow
against you, I think you forgot about me,
maybe we kissed goodbye on your bed with
the windows open and the orange house across
the street steamed like a fat sun and I fell all over
the wood floor, the dashboard smashing at the base of the canyon,
I’m a melted crayon, no, I’m a dried up riverbed, no,
you are kissing my mouth, no, neck, the canyon is opening
and a thousand moths fly up to the road,
I think my car is charred,
I am an empty gas tank,
when you kiss me,
I spit lonely into your mouth,
that’s the worst part.

Posted in Blog, Poetry & Prose and tagged ,

Poem Of The Day

Sage Cohen


I follow two steps behind my son
on the gravel path as he shouts

hello to ducks. The squirrel has lost
a stripe of fur down his back.

I should have married someone else.
A person can die of motherhood.

Even the flame maple’s promises
have stopped sleeping in the house.

He was gone years before he was
gone. First, he shot a doorway

through me, one complaint at a time.
Then he stepped through the place

my body once was and kept going.
He said he wanted to keep

trying, but what did that mean
in the absence of trying?

God, the cherry blossoms are in bloom.
This morning my son made me

an arrangement of flowers shredded
with scissors. I married a man

whose hands were unmade to please me.
I hold the vase like a torch.