Against Dying by Kaveh Akbar

Against Dying

 

if the body is just a parable 

about the body if breath 

is a leash to hold the mind 

then staying alive should be 

easier than it is most sick 

things become dead things 

at twenty-four my liver was

already covered in fatty

rot my mother filled a tiny

coffin with picture frames 

I spent the year drinking 

from test tubes weeping

wherever I went somehow

it happened wellness crept 

into me like a roach nibbling 

through an eardrum for 

a time the half minutes 

of fire in my brainstem 

made me want to pull out 

my spine but even those

have become bearable so 

how shall I live now

in the unexpected present

I spent so long in a lover’s

quarrel with my flesh

the peace seems over-

cautious too-polite I say

stop being cold or make

that blue bluer and it does

we speak to each other

in this code where every word

means obey I sit under 

a poplar tree with a thermos 

of chamomile feeling  

useless as an oath against 

dying I put a sugar cube 

on my tongue and 

swallow it like a pill 

 

The Red Wheelbarrow by William Carlos Williams

The Red Wheelbarrow

so much depends

upon 

a red wheel

barrow 

glazed with rain

water 

beside the white

chickens.

 

Scavengers by Ocean Vuong

Scavengers

                              Your body wakes

into its quiet rattle.

                                         Ropes & ropes . . . 

                How quickly the animal

empties.

               We’re alone again

                           with spent mouths. 

Two trout gasping

                                      on a June shore.

Side by side, I see

                               what I came for, behind 

your iris: a tiny mirror.

                                                       I stare

into its silver syllable

                               where a fish with my face

twitches once

                  then gones. 

                                         The fisherman

                                                   suddenly a boy

with too much to carry.

 

After 37 Years My Mother Apologizes for My Childhood by Sharon Olds

After 37 Years My Mother Apologizes for My Childhood

When you tilted toward me, arms out

like someone trying to walk through a fire,

when you swayed toward me, crying out you were

sorry for what you had done to me, your

eyes filling with terrible liquid like

balls of mercury from a broken thermometer

skidding on the floor, when you quietly screamed

Where else could I turn? Who else did I have? The

chopped crockery of your hands swinging toward me, the

water cracking from your eyes like moisture from

stones under heavy pressure, I could not

see what I would do with the rest of my life.

The sky seemed to be splintering, like a window

someone is bursting into or out of, your

tiny face glittered as if with

shattered crystal, with true regret, the

regret of the body. I could not see what my

days would be, with you sorry, with

you wishing you had not done it, the

sky falling around me, its shards

glistening in my eyes, your old, soft

body fallen against me in horror I

took you in my arms, I said It’s all right,

don’t cry, it’s all right, the air filled with

flying glass, I hardly knew what I

said or who I would be now that I had forgiven you.

 

The 17-Year-Old & the Gay Bar by Danez Smith

The 17-Year-Old & the Gay Bar

this gin-heavy heaven, blessed ground to think gay & mean we.

bless the fake id & the bouncer who knew

this need to be needed, to belong, to know how

a man taste full on vodka & free of sin. i know not which god to pray to.

i look to christ, i look to every mouth on the dance floor, i order

a whiskey coke, name it the blood of my new savior. he is just.

he begs me to dance, to marvel men with the

                                                                                   dash

of hips i brought, he deems my mouth in some stranger’s mouth necessary.

bless that man’s mouth, the song we sway sloppy to, the beat, the bridge, the length

of his hand on my thigh & back & i know not which country i am of.

i want to live on his tongue, build a home of gospel & gayety

i want to raise a city behind his teeth for all boys of choirs & closets to refuge in.

i want my new god to look at the mecca i built him & call it damn good

or maybe i’m just tipsy & free for the first time, willing to worship anything i can taste.

 

What Shines Does Not Always Need To by Adam Clay

What Shines Does Not Always Need To

Because today we did not leave this world,

We now embody a prominence within it,

Even amidst its indifference to our actions,

Whether they be noiseless or not.

After all, nonsense is its own type of silence,

Lasting as long as the snow on your

Tongue. You wonder why each evening

Must be filled with a turning away, eyes to the lines

Of the hardwood floor as if to regret the lack

Of movement in a single day, our callous hope

For another wish put to bed with the others in a slow

Single-file line. I used to be amazed at the weight

An ant could carry. I used to be surprised by

Survival. But now I know the mind can carry

Itself to the infinite power. Like the way snow

Covers trauma to the land below it, we only

Believe the narrative of what the eye can see.

 

Otherwise by Jane Kenyon

Otherwise

I got out of bed

on two strong legs.

It might have been

otherwise. I ate

cereal, sweet

milk, ripe, flawless

peach. It might

have been otherwise.

I took the dog uphill

to the birch wood.

All morning I did

the work I love.

At noon I lay down

with my mate. It might

have been otherwise.

We ate dinner together

at a table with silver

candlesticks. It might

have been otherwise.

I slept in a bed

in a room with paintings

on the walls, and

planned another day

just like this day.

But one day, I know,

it will be otherwise.