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The bag, the jar, the box by Rachel Tremblay

In by New Author on January 18, 2018 at 9:35 pm

The list was long
As soon as you ran out of one
You added another
Seeing the bottom of the bag
The jar, the box
Shelves clean and empty
Ready to be clad
But that clang in your pocket
Was just rocks
And your bowl was full
At least once a day
With grain and hot water
You should be glad
You told yourself
Instead of bemoaning the way
Life kept you whole
Despite the holes
That drained you
drained you dry
But you still have a list that’s long
You still have your endless desire

And that’s worth something


Post Psych

In by Wyatt on May 2, 2017 at 8:32 pm

I was sitting on the curb outside a freshmen dorm tallying the number of undergrads who biked by wearing helmets. Twenty-nine out of thirty zipped past with their heads unprotected. A survey I ran showed that half of them secretly wished they wore helmets. So why didn’t they do it? Psychology let me peer into our messy, beautiful human lives and test ways to make them better. Today I’m paid to meet people and weave videos from their stories. It’s very different work; yet my toolkit is the same one I developed watching students ride by with naked heads.

for a poet in a city (ii)

In by Bunc on January 17, 2017 at 11:38 pm

what joy to hold another golden
plume, forevermore,
of dust that keeps the vernal gust
enamored of his chore

yet bittersweet to only meet
the rose from which it soared,
with thanks unto her absence
four-and-ninety years before

the seasons thence securely fenced
her graceful bloom away,
in sacred woods of sisterhood
that keep storm-winds at bay

and so he bows in kind to her
who winsomely eludes;
a lowly air to kiss the glow
between their solitudes

a mist and not a tempest
overlays the zephyr’s word,
in prayer that she forgive his song
its wanting to be heard