Black Mountain Blog
Poem That Sounds Like a Pear, by Thomas Walton
Posted on October 24, 2019
wait let’s walk over where the rich folk live their gardens full and well rid of weeds every lawn a lovely form of lyrate every shrub a song where small birds ravage the blossom-laden branches for bugs March 25 crows caw questioning us the viburnum is out drifting over the bluestone paths and […]
Read MoreYou Through the Portal, by Viviane Vives
Posted on October 22, 2019
You through the portal You, sleepy You have forgotten You with the drugs You with the motorbikes You with the rough chicks You almost throw up You stretch over the leather You close your eyes Your throw your face at me Your eyes closed Your mind gone so I can I drink from you. […]
Read MoreMad Birds, by Viviane Vives
Posted on October 22, 2019
Lake Travis, Spicewood, Texas. December 6, 2015 Do not go to the edge, stay with me, I will bring you the light of my years spent in high heels, then motorcycle boots, I will pluck the memories out of the notebooks I fished out the trash. I will take away the grief, I swear […]
Read MoreWhen We Swam Together, by Adrienne Asher
Posted on October 16, 2019
No oyster knives lie on my table, prying open what was closed; no sea salt, to be rubbed in wounds. Far from the sea, I strain to hear the cries of gulls. Once, we inhabited the sound of waves. Our minds held bowls of pearls, iridescent, overflowing. We spoke in parables of water, let […]
Read MoreSolicitation, by Adrienne Asher
Posted on October 16, 2019
Come now. Pull me into you as wind lures leaves into a vortex, reeling. My skin remembers fingers trailing and the touch of someone’s tongue. If you push your breath across my wrists, I’ll feel your most sacrificial secrets brush me. Betrayal and devotion, both. I will allow your breathing message to […]
Read MoreAftermath, by Lynne Schmidt
Posted on October 10, 2019
So then there’s this– . The moment after the storm . where you uncover your eyes, . and you survived but . everything else is rubble. Your fingertips dig into […]
Read MoreBatter Up, by Lynne Schmidt
Posted on October 10, 2019
I have been in love a handful of times. But that handful was full of headlight glass after a car accident. A broken mirror dangling off the side, and something so molded it turned liquid and slipped through my fingers. I loved ferociously, the way a lion takes down its prey. Or rather the […]
Read MoreFour to Six Inches, Reading, Massachusetts, by Kasandra Larsen
Posted on October 9, 2019
She wants me to see the snow on the trees, the branches specifically before it blows to the ground or melts, leaving spider arms to wave and dangle their remaining treasures, crisped to endless trembles. I’ve seen snow of course, before. Trees but not these trees, not adorned with these satin gloves, this hint […]
Read MoreCall me Tess, by Susan Azar Porterfield
Posted on October 8, 2019
Not to see a scimitar in a swallow’s wing or a swallow’s wing in an eyebrow’s arch. Hand maidens strung up like game on a line, like game on a line. Small birds broken like the necks of girls. Look. It will tell you what you tell yourself is there. Out at […]
Read MoreAfter Chicken and Rice for Dinner, by Susan Azar Porterfield
Posted on October 8, 2019
Even so, I’m homesick for the stranger, don’t think unborn child or younger self, not death. nothing that can be named, though I’d like to believe something would be there, a light, a gesture, the moment I passed it by.
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