Vile Romance

May 6, 2019

I am naked on someone else’s bed, bearing my
soul with my heart ripped out from its cage and

beating, beating, beating in my hands. I wonder
what it feels like to be loved, so I open my mouth.

as if the answer is yes. I wait as if there is an

answer at all. My nakedness is a concept, like
if I am naked enough then maybe our love will

last forever. But there is no answer, no response.
Things don’t work the way they are supposed to,

and love isn’t love if you have to bribe somebody
with a concept that won’t last. After he kisses me,

I put on my clothes; I don’t put my heart back
where it belongs. I give it to him, all red, all bleeding.

Two weeks later, he texts me saying that all the red
was ruining his clothes.

Keren Chelsea

caution: this poet only speaks in junipers, and seaweed.
only drinks sunlight brewed coffee –
warning: this poet is still searching for a word
to soften the currents in her palms
crawls in to orchards to breathe like the flowers
dancing high on the trees.
this poet breaks open fruits to learn sweetness
is being reckless holy
misdialling Lucifer
to ask for his lost glory.
this poet is creating god from dirt
& feeding sugar to the birds.
creates tenderness out of discarded clothings
and eden out of whispers.
this poets fills her belly with vile creatures
& laughs when they wriggle.
this poet is building castles out of broken temples
is carrying heaven in the darkness of her skin.
this poet is no poet is god made girl
no – this poet is girl made god.

Patricia Camille Anthony

Little Prayer

May 6, 2019

let ruin end here

let him find honey
where there was once a slaughter

let him enter the lion’s cage
& find a field of lilacs

let this be the healing
& if not let it be

Danez Smith
From the collection : Don’t Call Us Dead

These poems can’t make history vanish, but they can contend against it with the force of a restorative imagination. Smith’s work is about that imagination — its role in repairing and sustaining communities, and in making the world more bearable…Their poems are enriched to the point of volatility, but they pay out, often, in sudden joy… . But they also know the magic trick of making writing on the page operate like the most ecstatic speech.(The New Yorker)