Category: Poetry
Pronunciation
by Josie
Valerian gardens, gardenias in the rosebushes sunlight twilight and mountain rain makes everything grow like this. Tricolored notebooks rest easy on the table near me and the door opens once more. The door opens. Has been opened. Will be opened.
Coffee Talk
by Josie
Taking myself by the forehead, coffee stains and Rosie O’Donnell in the corner, I look at the calendar year 2016 to see the border collie panting peacefully in the meadow. A chair scraps against the dusted tile. The sound bounces from high windows into my ear drums. Earthquakes ensue. Short shorts and cups of Joe spinning endlessly through wordless soliloquy I think how … Read More Coffee Talk
After Six Waves
by Josie
The fist comes down upon the table and the scatting, echoing, marauding clang bumps and lurches about the steel room— the table holds, tho’ it’d rather sink to the knees, and the mice feel small amid the balloon. I take my time and draw in a breath— & before the intake reaches the zenith the fist comes down again on the table—
On Structure and Feeling Perfect
by Josie
Fists to the wall, my marble friend, for who hears no chime when the cup is set upon the porcelain? If you lean in close, you’ll hear sentences, casting around the four walls whimpering in rhyme, dripping in furnishing, fur lined over long sips of hot tea cozied up to the counter longing to call it good—
Duvet
by Josie
I wake beside your name— half in snore, half without the curling interpretation of window time patters down from the Mountains. And in the hushed dew of the dawn pines the lone, sleepy bee heads forth from hive to seek the outdoors. Mingling together, the mountain and the bee, pollen falls in thick droves from the heavy clouds.
+ Bold, Hawaii, North America, Poetry
Calculus
by Josie
Key: x = Donald Drumpf y = voters z = state o = Republicans b = women Render the verdict on x. Y come together to come apart at the nation’s seams, rippling constantly a fool’s errand elongated across a sea of z’s, all in it to win it. O hold the whip against the non- whites, the non-brights, the non-O really, including … Read More Calculus
+ Bold, North America, Poetry
Skyscrapers
by Josie
as if the earth under foot were some sort of place holder, stubbornly held firm by clenched fists and steam whistle ears as if they didn’t see that we could see that we weren’t the people they were talking about—
Monday Morning after a Storm
by Josie
What happens. What happens, when the cold morning breath of a foggy night slips under the covers and over the lips and bare feet stretch evenly over a woolen rug to a world that smells of light eucalyptus and an open balcony door — What happens.
