#Poetry Wed: “Philomela” by Betsy Scholl

“Dear nightingale hiding in green thickets,
I don’t want to think of the girl

who couldn’t tell her story, how nothing she sang
said what happened to her, her voice smudged

like wet ink the left hand blurs as it writes.
Well, worse than that—the knife at her throat,

the whole dark alley of him, errant star
burning inside her, then burning her out,

the red of her, the words. Her tale
like no tapestry you’d hang on the wall…”

-Read the entire poem at Field.

#Poetry Wed: “Sometimes a Horse” by Meredith McDonough

“becomes a man

and that man becomes a magician

as if to take control of his transformation

He cuts a woman in half

with a phony saw that curls

like a question mark

Is this how we become less he asks

as her waist widens to a breath-filled

gap…”

-Read the entire poem at Hermeneutic Chaos.

#Poetry Wed: “Avaricious Symbiosis” by V.C. McCabe

Axiom breath of dead lungs, the calm
bombastic births a delicate cacophony.
Imagine the illusion of incandescence,
mesmeric, effulgence over a chasm.
Juxtapose an artless, xenophobic
greeting, devoid of empathy, with a fire
-fighter holding a child in an old photograph.
How far beneath us is gratitude, dignity
of language, of verbal silk?
Can a knife be neutral in any hand?
Farewell my kaleidoscopic forgiveness,
reality supersedes trust underneath the bruise.
Yonder is the last civilization
in a zoo no one cares to visit.

-First published in The Galway Review.

V.C. McCabe Poetry Website.

#Poetry Wed: “​Nocturne: Tallahassee” by Amorak Huey

“The glazed night sky torques and writhes and buckles
over Lake Ella. We’re holding hands, sometimes

our wedding rings make an ugly clack.
It’s hurricane season. We like to think we’re safe

this far north of the gulf, though the air
is choked with salt…

…We cannot see the stars
because we hold them in our mouths—

a kind of sacrament…”

Read the entire poem at Hermeneutic Chaos.

#Poetry Wed: “Remains” by Callista Buchen

“I hammer and turn, and everything I touch goes glass.
A mountain made of houses, all the walls and doors.
You don’t know what to say.
My mother watches. My father watches.
Where else would you go?
Someone imagines climbing through a window…”

Read the entire poem at Juked.