Brian Dean Powers, Summer 2016

My Voice
Brian Dean Powers

I always sound hoarse.
Like a radio half-tuned to the station.
It’s hard to make myself heard.

I repeat myself often, every day.
It’s hard to make myself heard.
That’s the voice I have.

I can’t converse in noisy places.
Don’t ask me to speak to a group.
I’d rather not talk at all.

It’s hard to make myself heard.
There’s a furrow in my vocal folds.
There’s a flaw that can’t be fixed.

You might not hear my hello.
What can I say?
That’s the voice I have. Continue reading “Brian Dean Powers, Summer 2016” →

July 8, 2016 1

Matthew Rotando, Summer 2016

The Beast That Lunges
Matthew Rotando

The best thing about remembering is that it’s in your hands. You revolt against sleep and become a phantom in time, moving through rooms and visions as a wiry, feral child. You don’t need words to eat, to find shelter. You taste water in air and move to it with your thirst. You kneel over a lake at night. The outline of your face is a surprise. You breathe hard and lunge into recollection. You run backwards and laugh at your heelprints in the earth. Snakes slide back to their skins. Fires grow into trees. Pearls soften to sand. You unwrite the future for the happy beast you are becoming. Rain whispers quietly upward. The past begins to show. Clarity is dimness. Your hands as clouds, as fins, as roaming notes. Continue reading “Matthew Rotando, Summer 2016” →