—Poetry and Photos by Sara Altman, Nyack, NY
CROSSHATCH BLUES
Past the point where sand collides with crosshatched blues
exists the quantification of my life—
like when flux led to flight
Or when I was pinched and perched—
feet drenched in drying concrete,
until I gathered all of that rot
and altered it;
then vestiges of a phoenix coated the sky.
When I had wings, I ran with Icarus,
until my father cut them
(to keep me safe).
When I landed on earth—
there was a herculean thud,
and then a blackness.
I’ve been visited
by the phoenix five or six times.
I rub my palms together with heaps of ash and dust.
Time bumps forward, ricochets off corners, and then—alchemy.
Past the point where sand collides with crosshatched blues,
my eyes drift slowly over the sky.
I notice, among the hatches,
a new layer beginning to form—
deep royal blue.
Past the point where sand collides with crosshatched blues
exists the quantification of my life—
like when flux led to flight
Or when I was pinched and perched—
feet drenched in drying concrete,
until I gathered all of that rot
and altered it;
then vestiges of a phoenix coated the sky.
When I had wings, I ran with Icarus,
until my father cut them
(to keep me safe).
When I landed on earth—
there was a herculean thud,
and then a blackness.
I’ve been visited
by the phoenix five or six times.
I rub my palms together with heaps of ash and dust.
Time bumps forward, ricochets off corners, and then—alchemy.
Past the point where sand collides with crosshatched blues,
my eyes drift slowly over the sky.
I notice, among the hatches,
a new layer beginning to form—
deep royal blue.
(prev. pub. in the South Shore Review, June, 2021)
DIVISION
I have searched for truth
in the lines of your face and
willed the light
to make a bond.
In spite of willing,
the shadows multiplied,
revealed cracks in composition,
compromises in foundation.
In twilight, I’m still searching
for a sliver of illumination to
glue, hold, and bond—
beneath a flagging and dimming moon.
INHERITANCE (TO MY BROTHERS)
We inherit more than our parent's chromosomes.
We are infused with their splintered parts,
but unlike over-steeped tea leaves—
prepared, forgotten—
cast-off parts of the shadow linger
eager to find expression in the unguarded.
We live in microcosms of intricately woven multigenerational quilts.
Laws that hold up against nature, unbending.
There are traces of him in all of us,
close to the surface—
they don't need much kindling to ignite.
the loyal, the subversive, the controller, the inept,
the looking over and away—
stone-blind, excusing.
Coping mechanisms color us linear and lacking.
Provide armor to defend love’s treachery—
metal plates with holes to scatter our sympathies—
we cling to love awash with prickers.
IN PURSUIT
My hands are bruised and scraped from hanging on,
but I did not escape the fall.
Our deepest pain manifests in defeat after defeat,
cloaked in slight variations of presentation.
At first we think
This time will be different,
as we dive in with eyes closed—
In the end, familiar situations cast us as the victim,
abandoned by justice and her broken scale
Until we stare it down and get to know it wholly,
our pain will own us
It will ride us,
like a jockey rides a race horse,
rough and unyielding, until he’s crossed the finish line.
My hands are bruised and scraped from hanging on,
but I did not escape the fall.
Our deepest pain manifests in defeat after defeat,
cloaked in slight variations of presentation.
At first we think
This time will be different,
as we dive in with eyes closed—
In the end, familiar situations cast us as the victim,
abandoned by justice and her broken scale
Until we stare it down and get to know it wholly,
our pain will own us
It will ride us,
like a jockey rides a race horse,
rough and unyielding, until he’s crossed the finish line.
SPLINTERED LIGHT
Noxious vortexes hiss and collide into
whirlpools of volcanic ash
Affronted by need and appalled by love
you armed yourself with desperate rage
For years I walked among the flowers,
digging for artillery, coming up empty
As evening’s twilight sun
shrinks slanted shadows,
I reach deep within my armory—
recovering fragment upon fragment
of light.
Noxious vortexes hiss and collide into
whirlpools of volcanic ash
Affronted by need and appalled by love
you armed yourself with desperate rage
For years I walked among the flowers,
digging for artillery, coming up empty
As evening’s twilight sun
shrinks slanted shadows,
I reach deep within my armory—
recovering fragment upon fragment
of light.
Today’s LittleNip:
WINTER’S GIFT
—Sara Altman
The Sun is fierce in the shade of Winter
Its brazen solar winds awaken the withered,
pull us out of dead passages and crooked dreams,
compel us to begin again.
______________________
Sara Altman is the editor of WhimsicalPoet (www.whimsicalpoet.com), an online poetry resource and journal of Contemporary Poetry, and Whimsical, a Journal of Contemporary Art. She has poems published in PoetryPotion.Com, 34th Parallel Magazine, The Willows Wept Review, Down in the Dirt, Southshore Review, and Unique Poetry. When not writing and working on the Website or Journal, she can be found hiking the Hudson Valley with her pup, enjoying the home life with her wife and pets, or ripping up the pavement with her electric motor bike. She lives in Nyack, NY now, but there was a time when she lived in our beautiful Santa Cruz, CA. Welcome to the Kitchen, Sara, and be sure to come back!
The great actor, voiceover artist and documentary narrator, activist and poet Peter Coyote is celebrating his 80th birthday in Davis this coming Thursday night (tomorrow, 10/14) from 7-9pm, with a poetry book release party at John Natsoulas Gallery, 521 1st St., Davis, CA. Tickets are free, but reservations are required. Check out the details at www.eventbrite.com/e/peter-coyotes-80th-birthday-party-and-reading-tickets-179279930097/.
_________________
—Medusa, wishing you a lucky 13th!
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
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work from all over the world, including
that which was previously-published.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world, including
that which was previously-published.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
