When I love, it happens almost all at once. It is inconsiderate, unrefined— a child screeching in a supermarket. It is a thunder clap. It is a small village blackout. It is Aphrodite rising from the sea foam, fully formed. — Salma Deera, “The Graceless Matter of Loving,” Letters From Medea. (October 17, 2015)
I gave you that sleep, a pale asylum from the hours I did not love you and did not say. —Allison Titus, from “Self-Portrait as the Train Passes,” Sum of Every Lost Ship. (Cleveland State U Poetry Center; 1 edition November 16, 2009)
The Dive I relearn how to press my body against other bodies. My slick flesh like scales, like fish tail, hums across men’s spines during autumn afternoons. I teach my mouth words like sunshine, cupcake. The mouth, once a fist, now can’t help but smile when it wags out these glittery promises. My legs remember… Continue reading Jenny Sadre-Orafai
a small truth: you move me more in a moment than the earth moves in a year. — Salma Deera, Letters From Medea, (October 17, 2015)
Still I get out of bed and say magic / because there are trees outside my window / and somehow that means you and I / get to keep on breathing here together for a while. —Sarah Certa, from Juliet (I). Published December 9th 2014.
I see, I read, I world, I am, I articulate, I incorporate my Self, I sing the ‘I,’ single unmoored line across whole swaths of text. — Connor Grogan, from “Appendix.” Diagram 15.5 October 28, 2015.
I keep saying this isn’t even my death to grieve and grieve a little more. — Stevie Edwards, from “Protest,” Humanly. (Small Doggies Press 2015)