womanhood womanhood did not sneak up on me when my thighs were stained with first blood that arrived so unexpected so connecting it didn’t happen when hormones sprouted lumps and bumps that others stared at and touched it was not given to me nor did I grab it in the first instance of fucking or [...]
“River” a series by Sarah Lenihan
River (I) I wish I could lay in a river glazed with gold – my heart sinking into yours amidst this pleasure. I would watch you fall beneath my feet as we would lay upon the riches we’ve won. It is a deadly notion to dream this dream of mine– The current brings us on [...]
“Stargazing After a Laparoscopy” and other poems by Lily Foguth
1 out of 10 There are small pixies flying around my uterus, igniting micro-fires in protest at my womanhood. The flames fester around my ovaries too. But that is just the beginning. Sometimes, the pixies pull elfin daggers from their belts and stab the undersides of my ovaries. The blood pours out in stringy red [...]
“When the angel came to me” and other poems by Danielle Galligan
When the angel came to me ‘The Virgin…’ He smirked, then ‘Virginity is a complex concept, pet’ I said. ‘I’ve been sent by God; He has a job–’ ‘So I’ve heard, you’ve got the wrong girl.’ Then, he grabs my wrist, ‘I must insist.’ Kisses my knuckle, twisted fuck. I imagine it going through his [...]
‘Stormriver’ and other poems by Myra Vennard
NIGHT TREE
Along the river bank
street lights are lighting
the darkening waters glow
the sun is low
the mountain crouches low
in shadow
light drops from light
dark creeps back to night …
my mind struggles with a paradox –
gleams from a self-source
and light
falling from a star
love is racked – there
is no owning in the soul
the void is an agitation
fixed habit of a consciousness
unwilling to go into the terror
of going into light of naked night
my tree reaches up winter bare
its star is not yet born.
GOING OUT
Sea fog curls
around the cliff face
the island has no contour
still – and I
I am weeping
amid a conflict
the wish for forgetfulness
yet fear of clinging sorrow
intangible dreams are real
a beatitude…
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