POEM OF THE WEEK | George Elliott Clarke | WHITEWASH

WHITEWASH

White is waves bright as crinkled sunlight—or sunrise, done up in foam White is Grevens Paerecider, Ironworks Pear Eau-de-Vie, Lunenburg County Winery Montbeliard Pear Wine, and Belle-de-Brillet Poire-et-Cognac White is the missing link* between Michael Jackson and Elizabeth Taylor White is a spic-and-span E.R. with a scatalogical surgeon wielding a shit-smeared scalpel White is a Snow White blow job necessitating a White House snow job White is white diamonds white gold white chocolate white weapons white Negroes*[…]

POEM OF THE WEEK | Janine Certo | CONSPIRACY THEORY

CONSPIRACY THEORY a circle of reason / a proof that cannot be proved or disproved / a mad mixture / a template for order / cast, shaped, readymade and launched / requires immediate response (response must have no minor errors) / a distrust, a witch hunt, an elaborate dance / behind the scenes / eyewitness […]

POEM OF THE WEEK | Matte Rader | ZERO + ONE

ZERO + ONE

No thing, a zero in the amber of time, then one. At the edge of the mind a soft rime: then one.

The brook was running clear. Now it’s gone. I’m here, cried the killdeer, I’m here. Now it’s gone. Jewels of rain like We’ll grow rich with water, Like every number were prime. Then one. We built a small house in the womb of the woods. Twice you gave birth there. Now it’s gone. A storm sky etched by lightning, dissolved by light. Twelve bodies trenched with lye, then one. My name flashed in your mind, the[…]

POEM OF THE WEEK | Shanan Kurtz | GRASP

GRASP

have you forgotten the terms of this pact, the lines we once lifted from songs that remind me of bells and stems, a collection of waves, a kill, a cure, a whim made permanent, arcane

did we ever lie close in the black of a room belonging to no-one, switched like breakers curved to conduct the pitch of a laugh, a meteor shower, a shimmer, a culvert, a quarry turned sleight of hand so thin the grasp of whispers held for hatching plans to stay somewhere within your reach, an iceberg, an archive, steady, remote unflinching, done and[…]

POEM OF THE WEEK | Naomi Kanakia | THE GIRL

THE GIRL The girl from high school—not my high school—had long straight hair and a foxy face and her body, a cylinder, with slightly wider hips, was perfect for the sheath dresses she wore. Vee was a Circassian, famous beauties in their day, well-prized as slaves, her mother a refugee from Turkey, never marry a […]