#poemblr

The First Word

i am the me between Demeter and deter,

the spine in supine absent you,

i am the gap in Agape,

the age in language after you.

i am the war in swarm,

the arm in swarm,

the vows inherent in vowels,

the asp writhed from grasp,

the tor at the top of the storm.

i am the i between deify and defy,

this axis aching inside

the migration of starlings,

the i between vapor and viper,

between mire and more,

i am the sword interred

between expire and explore,

i am that Eve—

she who broke

a fever to forever.

-Kalliope Amorphous

I call this, “It’s spring & I’m gay”

The irony of life is that wings are always given to those with a fear of flying

Instagram @quirinerose

wind blistered water
stars collapse into redwood
love the outer ring

-family tree, Kelsey Ray Banerjee

exiledhome:

Our eyes shine
like glass and fishbone licked
clean, fatigued at the
edge of excellence

we crumble African tulips
and little white buds
nameless, I
shook off dew and in dusted heat
our footprints wandered forever

- The Midst of Summer, Kelsey Ray Banerjee

in this scorched, sun-baked season
we prayed for rain
and when it came
summer heat blazed
as if blooming,
polyester chaffed against
cotton, against skin sticky.
we filled our teacups with humidity
and decided the earth
knew itself better
than we.

-rain prayer, Kelsey Ray Banerjee

From the desk
her spine creaks,
each rubbery cartilage
like a phone pole.
each breath realigns
bone and belief  
she types away her thoughts
knuckles thinking faster than
brain cells, and with clacks.
it’s only been four hours,
starting into screen light
she wonders when she’ll see the sun.

-9 to 5, Kelsey Ray Banerjee

you ask for sweet lime
scent sour
I carve carefully
the seeds from the nectar
each white pip
tumbles on the floral saucer
as if dragon bones
divining your daily fortune.
I toss them to the crows,
palm-sized sparrows
so somewhere, perhaps
a tree will grow
and those limes
might actually be sweet.

-sweet limes, Kelsey Ray Banerjee

no one tells you
being an immigrant
is being a stallion
front hooves tied knotted
course rope
chaffing at your ankles
holed up in a greener pasture
gnawing at tender leaves
while watching
acres away
those you love
wild and free, wind
whistling against their cheeks,
a throbbing ache to be with them
but knowing you cannot.

-tied, Kelsey Ray Banerjee

overcast
you sit
suck on mango skin
the juice on your chin
drips on
basil leaves,
your hands already wet
before the rain
we watch the yellow mountains
spring back to life
verdant, almost emerald
green foliage tender at the end of summer,
nourished by the dead roots
beneath softened soil.

-end of summer, Kelsey Ray Banerjee

a head of cauliflower
bald
green leaves in a heap,
i slice
each yellowing branch
hair thin.
they tell me threadlike cuts cook better,
taste softer,
the closer it is breaking.

-breaking, Kelsey Ray Banerjee

they repeated
that your story didn’t matter -
a mantra
they couldn’t calculate
the value of the sun.

-value, Kelsey Ray Banerjee

Love the Sinner, Hate the Sin

poem transcript under the cut

[transcript: “In the evenings, I wash him, cleanse the sins off his skin until he’s mine again. Watch the blood soak the soil and feed the hungry Earth. He is the poor criminal and I the forgiving judge. He is reborn, purified, made a man again.

At night, I take him to Heaven. I have the key to the gates and I let us both in. We are alone there, with no witnesses to judge the sinner’s presence in an angel’s arms.

In the morning, we reach earth again. His skin is no longer bright from yesterday’s cleansing. It is dark and dull again, preparing itself for what it knows will come next. There is no use in cleaning him. Still, I know I will do it again and again.

In the afternoon, I lose him again. The blood dirties his skin once more. He has forgotten yesterday’s ritual. I watch him break my heart once more and still I know I will forgive him for it.

In the evening, I wash him again, make him a man and claim him as my own. I will take him to Heaven once more. I will make him the angel I know him to be. He is not the blood that stains the water or the agonized screams of dying men. He is my angel. Tonight, I will open the gates and I will let him in again. [/end transcript]

and again i am abandoned

poem transcript under the cut.

[poem transcript:“If only I had swallowed my hurt

let the razor-sharp edges cut my throat,

let the dark red wine wash the sins away.

Maybe then I wouldn’t be in this corner

begging God for an answer

screaming my throat raw.

Instead I wore it as a medal

shiny and loud for everyone to see.

Unwilling to die quietly,

I held a parade in place of a funeral.

I am the entire procession

and Lucifer the only witness.

What would they think

if they saw me now?

Would they tiptoe around me,

afraid of detonating the bomb

of my being,

or would they avoid me altogether

and laugh as the trumpets blare?

If only I had swallowed my hurt

maybe then they wouldn’t have left.” [/end transcript]

poem transcript under the cut

[transcript: “Did he save you when you promised to walk to Jerusalem for him? Did he clean the blood from your wounds and kiss it better?

Weak hands maintain a strong grip on the steering wheel. You mumble a prayer under your breath. You’re not quite sure what you’re even praying for.

Words are muffled by the loud wind whipping in through the open window. It roars through your ears and everything feels wrong, everything’s too much now.

A little squirrel lies dead in the middle of the road, streaking the pavement with an ugly red color. You try to ignore the feeling of dread curling up in your stomach. Who are you if not his?

You begin to wonder how sturdy a steering wheel is. Could he break it with his bare hands

Just like this? Fingers curled around the wheel, jaw clenched, shoulders tense.

He slams on the brakes and the seat belt digs into your shoulder. Are you the passenger or the little squirrel, a lifeless inconvenience?

 Close your eyes and feel the wind whipping at your face. Ignore his outburst and listen to the wind. 

 Let the wind carry you to Jerusalem,

Let your Mother Nature kiss it better.” [/end transcript]

THE KITCHEN STORES AN INFINITE LOVE 

poem transcript under the cut 

[poem transcript: “in the dark of the room / i whisper to you / “you should get some rest, honey / you look tired / like the weight of your father’s expectations / is heavy on your soul.”

i found a love hidden / in a drawer in my kitchen / tucked away like a scared child / that cowers from / its imaginary beasts.

so bring her in, honey / let her join us. 

in the kitchen / past midnight / my arms around your neck / your lips on my cheek / the fridge light bleeding out behind you. 

in this room / god and all that is holy / are on our side / and this love will last / forever. 

in the kitchen / past midnight / the two of us / alone together / always and forever.” [/end transcript]

ON LOVE/HATE AND PAIN/COMFORT 

poem transcript under the cut

[poem transcript] “i. He doesn’t know what it means to be gentle. It’s not his fault, he grew up watching his father’s hands tightening around his mother’s neck, every touch bruised and hurt. But the flowers look so pretty in their vase on the dining room table, don’t you think so, son?

ii. So the blood trickles from your nose but his touch on your cheek is soft and warm and safe. The blood will dry and the bruises will heal, so there’s really no use in crying over spilled milk, is there, darling?

iii. He’ll mumble an apology in your ear soon enough, low and ashamed, voice cracking from the tears threatening to flood the room. He’ll touch you again, slow and soft and kind.There’s an extra apology in that touch, one that says “I’m sorry I’m not this kind to you always. Please don’t leave me.” You’ll forgive him, won’t you, honey?

iv. One of these days, you’ll find the answer is no, no I don’t forgive you. And you’ll ice your own bruises and clean up your own blood and you’ll walk away while you still can, before your tattered body is thrown in a ditch in the middle of nowhere. You’ll find your strength tucked in the back of your closet and put it in your suitcase, you’ll find the value you hold and keep it in your bones as you walk out the door. Because you know you deserve better than that, don’t you, angel?” [/end transcript]

ACT IV: SPEAK

tiptoeing down the corridor

asking for a sign that his love was real

and as the moonlight floods the room

from the open window,

he thinks he can see the almost-love

that had escaped him a million times.

and when the sun rises again

he’ll be haunted by his mistakes of speaking with his mouth closed

in a quiet room

and mumbling the words

“I love you”

over the audience’s applause.

you lie awake at midnight hoping for an answer that’ll never come. the silence claws at your ears, a permanent reminder of its deafening presence. so what if he doesn’t come back, smiling as if he’d never even left your side? they can’t see your bruised ego in the dark.

Cicada Summer

For@nosebleedclub may prompt #2

transcript under the cut

[transcript:

the sweat drips down my back

and the loud beating of my heart

almost drowns out the buzzing

of the cicadas

the words are in my throat

if only I could push them out

if only I was brave enough

to be honest

if only I was enough.

the moon illuminates the sky

and you turn your face to the dark

to watch it

and I’m watching you

how the white of the moon washes

over your face

and somehow makes you

look more serene than before

and when you turn to look back at me

I pretend I was looking at the moon too

for once I’m glad for the cicadas

without them you would surely hear

my wild heart

and my heavy breathing” [/end]

i just got a poetry rejection (which is fine and expected) but

they called it melodramatic and unmoving

skrnfnrnsjs that was one of my faves