My Almond-Themed Poetry Book Submission to an Actual Publishing Company (That Rejected Me)

(The accompanying letter, minus the identifiable portions for privacy)

September 28, 2020

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Editor-In-Chief

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-------, ------

Dear -----------,

This is an almond themed murder mystery poetry book. The collection follows the victim through their obsession with almonds, despite or because of their hatred for the complicated texture of the nut. The victim chronicles all the times they have consumed almond products offered to them by others, who each become suspects, leading up to the victim’s hospitalization due to cyanide poisoning. We also follow the killer’s story as they struggle with their emotions, often expressing them through almond-themed poems and eventually, almond-themed violence (cyanide poisoning). This concept is inspired by Shel Silverstein’s poetry and Agatha Christie’s who-dun-its.

My name is ------------, and I am a ----- from -----. My two cats enjoy staring at my corn snake while I toe the line of how many times one person can say “almonds.” I have a complex relationship with almonds and have found a lot of joy in exploring that with poetry.

Thank you for your time and consideration,

Elisabeth Balmon

CYANIDE II

In my coma I dream,

Losing my calm and

The hospital machines

Become more squeaking almonds

Surrounded, engulfed

By the swarming sound of squeaking bees

My body convulses

And I begin to seize

Eventually I awake

But my taste buds have changed

I have loads of anxiety,

Chest and abdominal pains

My skin is now pink

Or perhaps cherry-red

I am overcome by sleepiness

And the ache in my head

As I lay to rest

Not quite, but nearly dead

Cyanide poisoning

That’s what they said

LIMBIC LIMERICK

The limbic system deals with emotion and memory

So I’m wondering then, how can it be

That neuron based organ

Has let me down again

I’ve fallen for almond shaped trickery

SPRING I

I fear that I will die in the spring

When I do not bloom

With the rest of the temperate north

When I am not

The temperate north at all

I fear that I will die in the spring

When I am an arctic storm

On their summer’s day

I fear that I will die in the spring

Natural and inevitable

That will be my time

FORGET ME

Do you think everything resets

Once you’re forgotten?

Do you get to start over?

Does your pain go away?

What’s in a memory

Held in someone else’s head?

Why do we long to be remembered,

Why do we fear being forgotten?

I urge you all

To forget me.

Deep down we crave

To be immortalized,

Like our heros,

Authors, actors, and more.

But one day

The same dust that collects on this poem

Will collect upon their works, too.

A name never mattered, for

“What’s in a name,”

And yes, a rose still smells as sweet

Long after we’ve forgotten it.

And I urge you all

To forget me.

CYANIDE (ALMONDS II)

The deception of almonds

Is like cyanide between my teeth

I expect something crunchy

But instead I get squeaks

Almonds leave me breathless

Restless and weak

One more try for the crunch

JESUS FUCK ANOTHER SQUEAK

My heart rate grows rapid

I’m nauseous and vomiting

Somehow in my dizzy brain

Another almond sounds promising

THE RETURN OF MEMORIES

When I died, my life flashed before my eyes.

Not because my brain was reminding me what I had to live for,

But because my soul was finally free

To communicate, to contact me

And tell me of all the things my mind could not,

That were long forgotten

By a distracted,

Sloppy lobe.

My soul showed me the first time I saw my mother’s eyes,

The first time I ate ice cream,

The first time friends made me cry.

And my brain could not understand,

Would not understand why,

Why I would care.

But something was there,

In moments I could not remember,

In watching myself in a realm beyond my mind’s capacity,

That made me wish to return.

The soul’s message was moving,

Captivating,

Hypnotizing,

And yet,

There is something to be said for living

A life you are bound to forget.

As my soul shows me those lost moments for eternity,

I smile,

Tears in my eyes,

Because I now know my history in its revealed entirety,

But I will never add to it.

In a heartbeat

I would abandon my celestial being

In favor of my mortal bliss.

Alas,

It is not possible

To reverse my affliction.

What I wish to return to is damaged beyond repair.

The soul remembers everything,

It’s the body that cannot.

SYLLABLES FOR ALMONDS

Five syllables for

Almonds, which squeak in my teeth

Try being crunchy

HIKER’S NUTS

Deep in our trek,

On a hike in the woods,

My friend shortly stops,

And shows me the goods.

A jar of peanut butter,

Crunchy by Jiff,

And a small pack of almonds,

To be my gift.

We continue on,

Almonds tucked in my pocket,

Should I risk disappointment?

Until you try it, don’t knock it.

So that decides that,

I will eat the woody textured treat,

Though my naive hubris

Will surely spell my defeat.

OAKWOOD CEMETERY

I imagine this is

What death feels like.

Sitting on the edge of

A graveyard,

Sheltered by trees.

Surrounded by the silent

Wisp of wind rustling

Around tombs,

With the faint hum

Of a highway in the distance.

There are other people

In the graveyard,

But they go in deeper,

They are far away,

They are still alive.

And there are other people

Outside the graveyard,

Carrying out their

Daily activities,

Living on.

I watch them in silence.

I feel nothing but the occasional

Twinge of sadness.

This is all that I am now.

A squirrel crushes the leaves

It leaps in,

And another momentarily displaces

The branches of a tree as

It makes its ascent.

Insects hardly crawl by now,

It is too cold and they have died.

There are two more squirrels.

I hear the scuttle of

Their claws hitting the bark

They chase each other on.

A woman walks by,

Returning home from work.

She has obligations and responsibilities.

She has a future.

A young man passes on his bike,

On his way to class.

He has obligations and responsibilities,

Most of which he is currently avoiding.

He gets lunch with his friends and skips class.

He has a future.

I listen to the sounds of life and

Silence of death,

It doesn’t seem so quiet.

It is not loud.

It is numb.

I wait.

Listen.

Watch.

But I have no future.

Moments like this,

Sitting on the edge of

A graveyard,

Sheltered by trees,

Surrounded by the silent

Wisp of wind rustling

Around tombs,

With the faint hum

Of a highway in the distance,

Are nicer when

Experienced alive.

Death only sounds nice

When it hasn’t been experienced.

Moments in numbness

Outcompete eternities.

Moments in sadness

Are followed by

Moments of joy.

Wait.

SPRING II

I always thought I would die in the spring

But here I am

Sitting in green grass

As the wind blows

As the birds chirp

And squirrels run across my feet

And maybe I did die in the spring

A child sits next to me

And blows bubbles

“Why don’t we just sit

And try to enjoy the view, son”