Nassau Weekly

Poetry

  • houston texas

    houston texas

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    by

    in

                after a letter about a friend               houston is warm and smooth and deep and dark and red. It is the feeling of holding a mug in two hands, of wrapping my hands around a lover’s lower rib cage and knowing this is…

  • Shit in my blood

    Shit in my blood

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    by

    in

    i was thinking about what’s in my blood and it’s mostly genetic stuff but also a wasteland if you’ve read T.S. Eliot so if you’re curious here’s not all just some of the shit in my blood:    55% plasma, mostly water carrying salt & proteins, tranquil medium that shapes time and space, the osmotic…

  • Passenger Announcement in Progress

    Passenger Announcement in Progress

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    in

    A soft chime. The PA system exhales with a crackle before speaking.  Good evening, passengers, and  welcome aboard Flight QTR955.  Please ensure your seatbelt is securely fastened.  Stow all carry-on  memories beneath the seat  or within overhead compartments.  Pack lightly — heavy luggage may slow ascent.  As we prepare for takeoff, take one last look…

  • Jazz

    Jazz

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    by

    in

    We are in assembly. Voices intermingle with deep jazz that drips from speakers stationed all around the house. Something beneath my sternum vibrates silently. The lights are colder than I know you’d prefer.  But I’ve got candles  at home,  with molten wax that oozes down far beyond  the little sphere of gleaming honeycomb.   We…

  • Epilogue

    Epilogue

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    in

    In August, you were real and unreal.  Lying on the floor in sticky heat, I wrote lines to you in my head, Crossed them out.   As summer slipped I sensed the shape of you in fever dreams. I told my friends it’s like living with a ghost.    Counting the days until October, When…

  • Varasani and her worn heart

    Varasani and her worn heart

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    by

    in

    “Every city has a heart. Unheard but never voiceless. Unpolished but never dirty. A thief you can call by her name.”

  • Atlas

    Atlas

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    by

    in

    Tired, exhausted, spent. Atlas fails, his shoulders relax, the mighty stone slips, and goes tumbling.   It scratches the land, denting the mountains, before crashing into western sea.   He stands there trembling, covering his head.   –   He waits a day.  But the sky isn’t falling.   Liars! he sneers, stretching his ruined…

  • She is such a sad girl I don’t know what to do with her

    She is such a sad girl I don’t know what to do with her

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    by

    in

    In my dream I was making you pasta & nothing bad had happened to us yet you smiled and told me you would take these multivitamins & forget me.   In my dream I booked a flight to wherever you were & my visa expired as I stepped out the door so I unplugged the…

  • Yellow Bike

    Yellow Bike

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    by

    in

    Going everywhere on that little yellow bike. To the base of mountains and looking up at the boundary where snow becomes rain. Retreat just below treeline on account of distant thunder. On the downhill a pebble could mean disaster, but make s-turns: wide and coltish. The chain whines and grates and spits out flecks of…

  • The Scorpion

    The Scorpion

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    by

    in

    (1) My roommate stirs. Her alarm rings at 9 AM, and she hastily turns it off to avoid waking me. My half-waking dreams are all the possible ways the email I sent last night could be answered. They range from “We’re sorry to hear you felt that way” to “Well, it wouldn’t have ended this…

  • Do Men Even Use The Bathroom?

    Do Men Even Use The Bathroom?

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    by

    in

    Not the way we do. As a refuge, as a moment of silence, as an interlude through mirrors, through cold. As a breathless moment with which to blot on two coats of lipstick and splash cold water on the cheekbones. As an enclosure– as four walls, however flimsy, between which one can perform a range…

  • A Lunch Date

    A Lunch Date

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    in

    A green restaurant, any time, really. Cigarettes on the ground outside, Sticky floors and fuzzy black mats. Customers scattered like seeds, Two clumped at the bar.    Squeaking seats, a shared Shirley Temple. Salads and sandwiches drifting from Table to table and conversation wafting. A few smiles. Suddenly,   She laughs, and  It’s like the…