quiet night
when you feel nothing,
you're probably either dead
or swimming naked.
colin pinegar
3 prose poems involving hearts, written with heart
observing an open heart surgery
the heart is on the table and a machine is pumping the blood now. the chest is wide open. the heart is alone on the table. the surgeon is cutting, cleaning, stitching, installing. he has turned his back on the heart that is alone on the table. i am watching the heart. the heart sags beneath its own weight. the heart is not pumping blood or loving. i get self conscious staring at the naked heart. i watch the floor and play with my keys. once no one is looking, the heart begins to sing.
in it
she says she can’t love me, she’s sorry, it’s not me it’s her, she wishes she could. it’s just that her heart isn’t in it, her heart is still in colorado, and now that she mentions it i do notice that the color has all gone from her face.
nighttime
it’s late and i’m depressed. slouching in my chair, i’m skimming old issues of scientific american and trying to be interested in something when there’s a knock at the door. it’s a tall and pale but beautiful woman surrounded by an all-girls choir. i ask her what’s going on and she says that music is the balm for a broken heart then lifts her arms and begins to sing a sweet long loud but gentle note and as she does golden glitter spills down from her hair and begins to fill my room. all the girls join in harmony and one by one their chests explode and spray different shades of gold until it covers my legs my neck my head and i’m floating.
it’s late and i’m depressed. slouching in my chair, i’m skimming old issues of scientific american and trying to be interested in something when there’s a knock at the door. it’s a tall and pale but beautiful woman surrounded by an all-girls choir. i ask her what’s going on and she says that music is the balm for a broken heart then lifts her arms and begins to sing a sweet long loud but gentle note and as she does golden glitter spills down from her hair and begins to fill my room. all the girls join in harmony and one by one their chests explode and spray different shades of gold until it covers my legs my neck my head and i’m floating.
austinrory hackett
peacocks really do sound like dinosaurs.
claire russell
asphyxia
drowning
in other's ideas
lost
trying to find me
hoping
i don't find it
hearing
most end up
drowning
steve canfield
_________________________________________
she’s like…
she’s like the bygone bricks in the stomach of scenic waste.
she’s like the under-nourished noise of grey wanderlust; sadist air-raid sirens blaring.
she’s like the youngest fire starter, lighting the rags in alcohol.
she’s like the millions who left on swollen feet, baked alive by the sun.
she’s like the all-clear, hauling me through the solid circle of my well-placed barricades.
she's like the sickness shredding my chest, making it hard to see but making it worth it to breathe.
lincoln wilder
tavaris and keon are both 19. myisha, christina and tavaris are parents. harpreet moved here from india a couple years ago. dantrell weighs 340 pounds minimum. pearson is the valedictorian. tavaris and anthony are lebron fans but dantrell and terrell are kobe fans (i hear about it every day). tavaris' nickname is termite and he is most likely on a 5th grade reading level. terrell and tren are cousins. keon failed 9th grade and works at church's chicken. tanesha and cashlyn are both cheerleaders. trendacian is probably the nicest girl at school, she walks in everyday with a "good morning mr. pratt". terrell, dantrell, myisha, laquavia, cashlyn, michelle, chiristina, tavaris, and tanesha live in eudora, 17 miles south. harpreet lives in the ramada inn across the street from the sunflower because their family doesn't own a house, just a business. terrell, cashlyn, keondric, harpreet, trendacian, and tanesha are juniors will be back next year but the rest are seniors. all of them qualify for free breakfast and lunch at school. all of them take the bus to school. all of them are my students.
clayton nebeker pratt
_________________________________________
elevator rides: a series of haikus (based on actual events)
#1
oh! mary j. blige!
wait - did she just cut in line?!
screw you mary j.
chris crosby
from "how did it get like this" (part deux)
i am 27.
i am a virgin.
my best friend is 5 years old.
about an hour ago I sat at the train station waiting for a train and reading better homes and gardens... in french.
it wasn't actually better homes and gardens, it was the french equivalent, my garden and my home.
except it was french so it was actually mon jardin et ma maison.
and i wasn't really reading it i was more like flipping through it looking at lawn tractors and wondering if any of the brands were still around.
it was the mon jardin et ma maison from april 1975.
sorry, "avril, 1975."
i am a virgin.
my best friend is 5 years old.
about an hour ago I sat at the train station waiting for a train and reading better homes and gardens... in french.
it wasn't actually better homes and gardens, it was the french equivalent, my garden and my home.
except it was french so it was actually mon jardin et ma maison.
and i wasn't really reading it i was more like flipping through it looking at lawn tractors and wondering if any of the brands were still around.
it was the mon jardin et ma maison from april 1975.
sorry, "avril, 1975."
just s. guy
so i went on a date with a dentist. i asked him:is buying organic toothpaste a good idea? he said "yeah," there is so much bad stuff in toothpaste, it is terrifying (which i felt was a little dramatic, but he looks at teeth all day so i guess in his context this is really scary for him.) then he added: if i could afford that organic toothpaste i would use it. and that confused me because i buy organic toothpaste and i don't make as much as a dentist and i still eat and live in an apartment all by myself and have plenty of clothes too. so then i wondered where his money was going and if it was not towards organic toothpaste then maybe it was towards cigarettes, pornography, animal tested products or dirt bikes. so i thanked him for dinner but told him i had forgotten that my friend was going to call me and that she had a rare condition where she got super anxious if she heard an answering machine so i was going to make sure i could answer in a quiet place not like a restaurant but more like my apartment that i paid for all by myself even though i wasn't a dentist. so i left and went home and brushed my teeth for a long time.
megan morton
wow, the world turns
hobo genie, you're the grandpa
you've fathered half this world
granting wishes, stealing kisses
from your grandkids- boys and girls
hobo genie, life in prison
is something you deserve
there you'll find some peace of mind
cause everyone there is a perv
chris duce
how's your brain?
i've stopped having to remind myself the wound has healed.
enough time has passed.
don't worry be happy, as the singing trout likes to say.
then my self-preservational lie is thrown into sharp relief by a sweet, simple question.
and i walk out of the church alone thinking,
damn.
sara thomas
_________________________________________
poem for lance
we went on a drive along the alpine loop.
i told you how i hated christmas.
you inquired with much interest.
when I never heard from you again I did a little research.
turns out your birthday is on christmas.
you were right.
we would have never worked out.
lindsay erickson
