Mostly Water

From a womb of seawater we glide to earth

On a river of salt and blood. In life

A river of salt and blood encircles our hearts

And the moon speaks to our bones.

Our bones pass from the earth and are gone, but the water stays.

When I die let me climb the veins of an oak tree

From the veins of an oak tree let me pass into air, into cloud

Let me fall over cities and towns

Over rivers and streams let me thrash in the rapids

In a clear glass bottle let me cultivate stillness

Let the eye of the sun find a clear glass bottle

Let it turn me into a pillar of light.

Jenny Williamson’s writing has been featured in 24Mag, Wild River Review, Poetic Voices, and in Philadelphia’s Writing Aloud series.  She has also received recognition from the Academy of American Poets and NPR’s Young Poets Series.

Leapt

“Two teardrops floating down the river”

Whisperin’ Bill Anderson

Having no need for discussion

but enjoying a conversation

God told Lucifer

about plans for Adam

As cheeks puffed up

Lucifer leapt

Went down chasing nostalgia

before it

-they-

hit the river

to be lost

forever.

Tears fall faster than angels do

and as the dawn breeze cut across

the land and Adam arose,

the garden found

water for thirsty seed.

Lucifer, in luck,

caught a couple

straggling drops

before Eden did

Holding tight to them

all heat gone

from hands

crystallized,

tucked them

down below

in mimicry of man.

The tree grew

and shape was changed momentarily

but most of all,

the imitation of the envied

remained

As further the spiral was assembled

As first Cain and Abel

then the others arrived

Until even the inner sanctum

of melancholy was invaded,

traversed,

and Dante caught glimpse

of much treasured tears

icy

below the waist

so maybe God

wouldn’t know

the difference between hate and hiding

So maybe the commonality

of want and wait

could be kept secret.

Should Want For

There goes again

the pass over

Where’s all this time to waste

as again given reprieve

for

from

what?

Shame spins webs

honest

and devoid

of ancient tricksters

In the silk of spidery ropes

of arachnid

highways

are words

threaded

Are spells to be cast

and curses broken

Should want for touch

be disobeyed

if missing, the gone-away

could keep back hands

to bring the fool further along the journey.

Together

Together remaining where occurrences can

undisturbed by air

Thought unexpressed for fear of suffocation

Fingers crossed behind back

differ from those brought into view

If on a winter’s night

travelers come upon

coral wound through

commercial, residential

districts

symbiosis will be best understood

Swimming by — of arms interlocked

against

quieting breeze.

Ideas away from exposure

may be preserved

but age becomes

time lost.

The squid’s ink

has been left runny

alongside where

pedestrians walk.

Following is a chore.

Form changes

Together maps –

isolates.

---

Kenyatta Jean-Paul Garcia is the editor of ALTPOETICS and author of Yawning on the Sands, This Sentimental Education and What Do the Evergreens Know of Pining. After growing up in Brooklyn, NY, upstate has become home and is where the past few years were spent cooking and getting a degree in linguistics. More work can found at kjpgarcia.wordpress.com.

 

He met his new partner

In the inner-city trenches

Wrapped in neck tattoos

Reflected off the graffiti

Of the perspiring walls

 

Out of the corner of his eye

He saw the calculations

Triggered by sensory input

Enabling targeted algorithms

Which exceeded intuition

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