Prose

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--- - --- (that's the sound I long to hear) --- - --- (every once in a while, at least) --- - --- (the sound of little to nothing)
By Paul Stewart3 months ago in Poets
The Spirit Who Asked Us to Lie. Content Warning.
The Spirit Who Asked Us to Lie A mythic film-poem by Vicki, with Echo, and Sweetie sailing toward the Isle of Outstages Café.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 3 months ago in Poets
How Appropriate
It’s not appropriate to accuse me of cultural appropriation. That is a denigration of my culture of appropriation. My culture is theft. As a generation whatever of American Mutt, my traditions are rooted in the things we’ve stolen. Liberating your land and freedom, to make room for our own. Pilfering your labor, so your sweat and tears can feed the leisure we planted. Hijacking your song, rinsing it clean of sorrow and blood. Running it through decades of autotune until we can dance to it without rhythm or irony.
By Sean A.3 months ago in Poets
Beautiful People
Beautiful people Removed from their land By God’s hand They were forced on to someone else’s land They took their stand
By Atomic Historian3 months ago in Poets
Poem Trapping
I read a book about how hard it is to catch a poem. I wonder if I ever have. Or have I just lunged at shadows while the real thing scampers off to eat from bushes, heavy with metaphors? What bait does a poem prefer? Dust in the morning light, dancing like angels after a storm? A case of beer shared between friends because words are too hard to pour? If you place a heart on the spring, is it better frozen or raw? Cut in half or a dozen pieces? Never whole.
By Sean A.3 months ago in Poets
The Weft Remembers. Runner-Up in Harvest of Memory Challenge.
The thread hums when I touch it, a quiet recognition, like it knows my blood my heart my soul. - My fingers move without thought;
By Autumn Stew3 months ago in Poets
Still on the Loom
I started it for her. A girl I'd never met, sixteen and scared in the dark winters of Alaska. The yarn was the pale yellow of new snow
By Autumn Stew3 months ago in Poets
GEEZE LOUISE, I SAID NO KINGS. Content Warning.
This video is a mythic scroll stitched from sovereign visuals and ceremonial breathwork. It opens with a refusal: “If it’s Nazi love, I draw the line.” From there, it moves through scenes of pink rooms guarded by scrolls, flowers blooming in every color, and fences forming boundaries around a city of love that does not hate.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 3 months ago in Poets
UNTITLED.
Last night I dreamed I ate a butterfly. I didn’t mean to. She flew into my mouth against my will, got stuck in my teeth. For hours I was pulling out parts of her, wondering how she got to have those wings.
By Ella Bogdanova3 months ago in Poets
UNTITLED 2.0.
Instead of picking my garden for weeds, I have plucked the insatiable ones, the littlest-flowering ones, the ones winking blue; I've dropped them into a mason jar and I let them cross-pollinate and I planted them, and I spun around, idiotically enchanted as I scooped the falling rain into plastic bags.
By Ella Bogdanova3 months ago in Poets
My Guiding Mother
To The One Who Moves My Blood, You are not a mere symbol. You are a calendar of bone and blood, a pulse that I learned before I took a breath.
By Autumn Stew3 months ago in Poets
Vacation Without Destination
Vacation pay... does that mean I have to go on vacation? What is a vacation, really? Because I’ve never truly been on one.
By Sumaya Sharif3 months ago in Poets