Tag: poetry

Wolverine Stew: First/Last Thawing

clydemg 1 Comment

As the days go on, I can see

Carpenter bees and painted ladies

Fly from one pale blossom to the next

As a chorus of frogs sound in the

Marshes I’m just now beginning to

Wander through

Seeking those new paths from

Picking a direction and wondering

How far I can go with a friend or two

Tulip sunsets blooming from patchwork city soil

And curated reminders of maize and blue

And I’ll go through graveyards and theatres, cafes and Kerrytown

One more arboretum trail, one more crafted carnival, one more night

Walking the same loop, tracking constellations in those

Spaces between lamps, singing together after the stage lights go dark,

Rolling dice and trying out new names

Enjoying that welcome that was always there

With the ones who gave it

Trying to take it in as the clouds start to clear

And it will hurt to miss it all

But that means there’s something worth missing

And I’m glad I get to celebrate it in the sun

Because I know both will be back soon enough

aSoSS 23 | Tongue

a-spider-on-state-street 2 Comments

One AirPod is gonna be like a hundred dollars so I might as well buy another set.

Absolutely not. Whenever I think of Apple I think of that one show where he says, “oh Apple just came out with a new phone, guess we all have to –“ and then the phone breaks.

Denver International Airport, 4:00PM, 1/8/2024

the phone rings and i let my fingers strum the notes of your ringtone, seeing your face mouth the words that vibrate in the air. you are calling, of course, but the day is just begun and already it seems half wasted. my fingers tremble, holding the backspace key like a pillow over the face. the words disappear, screen stripped to its underside, neon flashes imprinted behind my eyelids. there will be more days and more nights and the creek will thaw and the birds will sing and i will persist. you will persist too.

You’re so opinionated about it!

Well, there’s a lot of opinions to be had…

Dow Building, 10:30AM, 3/4/2024

how can there be new stories without new words? when i was little you told me that each human is unique. i asked what made them human and you did not answer, as if caught in a lie. perhaps you are not human yourself? now i know there is no new dna either. our mouths, conduit of thought, a polymerase of sorts, runs untamed because who is to tame the creator? i smiled and it was easier to observe your reaction, as if a mirror would do an unjustice–we were never meant to see our own faces, after all.

I told her to do her own research and she was like, [growls] “I have!”

Hill Auditorium, 2:30PM, 4/10/2024

the sun does not want to stay. sometimes i see her struggling through the fog, weeding through the clouds, condemned to rise every day. she will smile if she sees the moon, splashed across the blue like a birthmark, calling her name. poisoned tongue, toxic attraction. on earth we soak up brackish water from the roots and spit them out to the sky. the earth spins around and the ants watch from below and marvel at the flatness, the emptiness, the center of the universe visible to only those who wish to see it.

4/11/24

Mattie Grace Levy Leave a comment

All the things I’ve accumulated 

Sitting listless and unnumbered 

A red towel soaked from suds fleeing from the sink

You have to use your nails to get clean

Wash cloths aren’t enough 

Some people don’t use them 

I can’t stop to talk to you 

Clean clean splash nothing is clean 

“Miss 1 pink pill in week 1 of your pack take the first as soon as you remember 

The second at your regular time”

Wolverine Stew: Graveyard Eclipse

clydemg 1 Comment

I follow the path of quills and daffodils

Blue ground-facing stars and yellow suns

A spring soil night as the sky above

Turns dim, a growing grey

But a welcome one in place of

The gloom that has begun to break

And as I walk I see dozens of others

All with their glasses that turn the sun

Into a campfire crescent moon

Celebrating on every patch of grass

In the front lawns where

A cracked, plastic skeleton rests in a pile

I end up at the cemetery, fellow sky-gazers

Sitting amongst the headstones as

The trees begin to bud, robins rushing between them

Starry blue flowers sprouting beneath

As moss creeps across the polished names

And lichen-loved stones

Like faces and upturned mushrooms caps

And just in time I find a place

Where the branches part

Where I feel welcomed to sit beside the graves

Where the sounds of my eyelashes

Against the dark film that guards them

Sounds like rustling in the pinecones and dry leaves

And the chirp of birds reaches its crescendo

As that waning crescent almost gives way

Before waxing yet again

And I spend a few more moments

Planted in the grass

Before making my way out of the cemetery

I pick a direction, and on I go

Because as the sky brightens

There’s so many

White-winged moths, wolf spiders, cranes, colonies of ants

To spot along the path

And I hope to see them all

Before this day ends

aSoSS 22 | Shadow

a-spider-on-state-street Leave a comment

So I told him “let me look into it”… and then I looked into it and I still have no idea!

Cardiovascular Center, 6:00PM, 3/11/2024

[son of absents] wedged between the post and the poles, black hair and emaciated letters askew. nyx shades her face out of shame. the ballot drops to the floor and deposits a list of names in the mud, puddles formed by the scars of the horses long asleep. the reflection casts empty against the sky, shrouded by percentages, gone but not gone enough. i point up and you put glasses on and something shifts. the voice in my head fades to black, drowning.

as if–

I only started wearing makeup in college so I kind of missed the middle school-high school experimenting phase…

Traverwood Library, 6:00PM, 3/17/2024

–the water would support the weight, even though we both know memory is the price to pay, ouroboros would not be so kind, an ever-consuming serpent chasing its tail, shrinking like a lasso in the wind, because the wind, like sand, penetrates the corners of my conscience, crevices never cleaned and skin never washed, wasted on whispers like close your eyes, it will be okay, the mask is lifted and the sponge comes off and the smoke clears the air, a mirror in its wake, a brilliant light, blinding, suffocating, and i scream and turn away–

What do you mean you can feel the moon coming? Are you a werewolf?

Stamps Courtyard, 3:00PM, 4/8/2024

–and yet:

when i leave my shadow grows stronger, absorbing the darkness you left behind. weak of muscle and wide of belly, the sun lies stagnant. we only look for it when it disappears, i think. you fashioned a suit from the feathers of my pillow, flying too high on borrowed wings. the moon passes in mourning, threading the needle, as the wax melts and the brown turns to black, a fall from grace. too proud for light, your presence goes unnoticed under the [absence of sun].