The Magician from Kate Greenstreet on Vimeo.
December 25, 2015
ADVENT DAY 25: KATE GREENSTREET!!!
The Magician from Kate Greenstreet on Vimeo.
ADVENT DAY 25: EMILY PINKERTON
For Claire, Aged Six
You smelled sweet, like whistling
prairie grass and peat loam.
Little meadow, autumn-lit,
spun sunlight hair, big brown eyes
shining bright from the chase.
You ran the turkeys back to their pen
& when I had my back turned
you bounded back for a kiss
and a hug that made joy seem easy.
EMILY PINKERTON is a technologist and poet. Previously an editor at Twitter, she is currently an MFA candidate at San Francisco State University. Her writing has previously appeared or is forthcoming in Noble/Gas Qtrly, Transfer, Gravel, LEVELER, Electric Cereal, Lemon Hound, and The Bold Italic, among others. She can be found online on Twitter at @neongolden and at thisisemilypinkerton.tumblr.
ADVENT DAY 25, KATE LITTERER
There I Was Unrequited
Your door
is like a
war plunked
haphazardly
between us.
It is true
and horrid,
it gets in
my vision
of you
so tell me,
don't you
agree you
never look
mucked up.
Tell me
what you're
reading in there,
baby.
I want to hear
your sweet
throat tell me
what's on
every page.
I want to hear
your train voice
surrender.
You get me there
like a single
night of rain.
There are
birds out here
forever and we
will wait
while you lick
your fingertips.
I promise
I will never stop
writing poems
outside your door
and making
everything up.
So I guess
I am your
necessary
pause.
Before there
was rain
everywhere,
I started off
blasé feminist but
I grew prouder of my
writing you
your door treaty.
I have less
clothes now
and it never
rains more than
when I want
to hurt near you
and share that
with you.
Sometimes
I hope for
pauses
in your breath
because
pauses are
your lips.
You are
the sexiest
bird I have ever
stood outside.
You get me
on a wet page.
I need to
hear you
say it. Press
your naked
little bones
to the other side
and tell me
these birds and
rain and pages
are war.
KATE LITTERER'S Ghosty Boo, is forthcoming from A-Minor Press in early 2016. Her website is katelitterer.com.
ADEVNT DAY TWENTY-FIVE: SHANNON BARBER
I am far behind
A foregone conclusion
The last leaf of fall.
The way she spoke to me
Left fire between my thighs.
I wanted and loathed her
She knew my secrets
Broke my carefully honed portrait
With a whisper and a knowing smile.
I walk in flames with my head held high.
Traceries ride the pyroclastic bounce of my hips
on night winds..
For a moment as seen
against the fiery night sky
I am the beauty I was promised.
Girls smile at my shadow.
Boys back away.
The night gives me freedom to show my real face.
In the dark; on the street I am real.
I am not inside the cold glass box of your gaze.
Inside your eyes I burn-
burn Black and beautiful.
Untameable.
Bright and blinding.
Only so you will not see-
be blind to my fire.
And I remain unburnt.
SHANNON BARBER an author from Seattle Washington where she lives with her partner and a small collection of oddities. Her work has appeared in The Establishment, Shotgun Honey, Gorgon Poetics and various other places. Find more about her work at www.shannon-writes.net
ADVENT DAY TWENTY-FIVE: SARAH MARCUS!
Getting Ready for Christmas
Tonight, Liz and I drive home.
We are still laughing about some stupid song--
the sky is nearly pink--
she says something about how it's too late for us.
We take the wrong exit.
We take the wrong exit, again.
I roll my eyes
at the house on the right
with the ungodly light display.
Stop being so Jewish she barks,
because I am still hoarding pumpkins.
Through the window,
the purple is palpable,
and I'm ready now
for the sky to open wide
like the promise no one
ever expected
would be kept.
 |
SARAH MARCUS is the author of They Were Bears (forthcoming in 2017 on Sundress Publications) and BACKCOUNTRY (2013, Finishing Line Press).
Her other work can be found at The Huffington Post, Cimarron Review, Spork, among others. She's an editor at Gazing Grain Press, a VIDA volunteer, and the Series Editor for As Is Ought To Be’s High School Poetry Series: Gender, Identity, & Race.
December 24, 2015
ADVENT DAY TWENTY-FOUR: ASH DI PASQUALE
Mint Box #1
I am in your image
A foreign face the
form of torture
Avalanches of knives
into it
Unforgiving
fingerprints
Unconscious
excoriations
Superficial reactions
Tied empty routine
Tongue-twisting
yesterdays
Closed demolished
future
Intimate distillation
Pillows bleed
masturbation
Hands perform intimate
permissions
Mercy waltzes adultery
Paradise leaks exotic
virgins
Father Abraham is
tongue-tied into my clit
The state is
tongue-tied into my clit
Ankles chained to the
cathedral
Ash Di Pasquale is a third year university student. Some more of their old work can be found at http://magazine.December 23, 2015
ADVENT DAY TWENTY-THREE: EMILY CRITCHLEY
from Wet
grass is where the Atlantic meets the Indian ocean
swim the
delight
& hurt not
where glass is enough / & thorough / & wet
in the
different finding waters
that clear on one side & clouds on
the other
thorough mine / through looking
thorough your / thru waving
& the through / the sea-grass
in the finding / the clear / in the
at last clashing
is full
about mine
in the
/ yours through that that is different energies dropping
coral leaves
invisible reaching
of same then bodies
sweet energies
fields in the / delight
that
dreaming
or the swimming / thru finding
the swimming / thru finding
the humming sounding
/ the dream-waking
with me there.
[…]
in the finding / the swimming / the through-ing
dreaming
where sweet
you can
really
have always
& the reaching the reaching the reaching & still
in bodies (waters) of coral
/ same
clear wet grass
as before
that play of that
dreaming or humming finding
/ thru of those bodies
of
/ wet coral while
sleeping
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