Poems, poems. Here are some lovely ones that have caught my eye that I have been rereading.
- ‘La Petite Mort’ by Kyle Dargan over at Public Pool
- ‘When a Poet Writes Afterward You Know It Means’ by Amorak Huey over at Yes Poetry
- ‘White People Always Want to Tell Me that They Grew Up Poor’ by Megan Fernandes over at The Common
- ‘In a Time of Thuggery’ by Rachel Galvin over at the Boston Review
- ‘The Hum of Zug’ Island by Jamal May over at the Kenyon Review
- ‘No Is a Complete Sentence’ by Kaveh Akbar at N|E|R
- ‘Karen Greenlee’ by Andrew Kozma over at Blackbird
- ‘The Doctor Asks Me When The Pain Began’ by Kerri French over at the Nashville Review
- ‘West Branch Wired’ by Tafisha A. Edwards over at Bucknell
- ‘From The Lake’ by Natalie Elibert over at Pen America
I dig this song and the band, Many Voices Speak. Maybe you will too.
Let them not say: / we did not see it. / We saw. —Jane Hirshfield:
New York City: January 8, 2017
White noise is all around inside. Steam comes alive in your apartment. You like to imagine the steam as invisible dancing cicadas. The radiators invasiveness is similar and impossible to get away from. The temperature is 25 degrees outside and feels colder, the Internet says, but you stay behind fogged windows. You stay safe.
The weekend snow is the first real fall of the winter, but you haven’t been outside now that your mind has adjusted to thinking that low 20s is the bone cold of what the negative temperatures use to be. Maybe we haven’t imagined the present enough to realize that the past doesn’t come back every year anymore. Things really do disappear, and mostly, we’ve earned that hurt. There must be some architect dreaming of building this city on a bridge, another architect dreaming of building another city underground for the sea level that is rising and the fault line that has been quiet past its expiration in a constant threat to shatter the lives that live along it. All the while, another architect that acts just as it was thirty years ago. Climate change science. Post-truth. Warnings. Nobody ever really listens, do they? You were doing errands when the rain came to darken the shadows in your living room. The apartment becomes quiet, the heat simmering down, so you put the kettle and radio on. Dance around in only your sweater and wet hair. You wonder when winter will not be worth the complaint. You think of your parents and wonder who might have helped them shovel out of their drive, knowing it certainly wasn’t you. And hasn’t been, for years on end.
Excited to be among great company in the lovely Public Pool. Check out my two poems and other work here: http://www.publicpool.org/dope/jeanne-henry/
That calming sensation
is me // on mute.
I am tasked with
of burying love.
Here are the poems I’ve been digging over the last week. Get in on it:
- ‘The Line You Approach Infinitely,’ by Laboni Islam up at Wildness
- ‘Attempting to Teach in a Desert,’ by Kayla Rae Candrilli up at Boiler Journal
- ‘Help’ by Danez Smith over at WaxWing Magazine
- ‘Prognosis, Miami’ by Ariel Francisco over at Public Pool
- ‘Notes on Staying’ by Hieu Minh Nguyen over at The Offing
- ‘Ribbon Cutting for a Cultural Institution’ by Nicole Higgins over at Sink Review
- ‘Before Diagnosis’ by Roger Reeves over at the Boston Review
- ‘For Reasons Unknown’ by Brandi Spaethe up at Minola Review
- ‘Air Lock’ by Kate Colby over at Tupelo Quarterly
- ‘Elegy for the Police State’ by Joshua Bennett over at PEN America
I’m excited to have a new poem up at Driftwood Press. It’s available to read online and you can also pre-order the lovely print edition.
I love this song. ‘Sister,’ by Angel Olsen. Record out September 2.
Excited to have a poem in the atheist issue of Crab Fat Magazine:
I don’t know what it was
that he saw: some deviled sadness
or an unloved angle of my spine. —http://crabfatmagazine.com/article/jeanne-henry/