Bones
I.
At school, my daughter made a skeleton:
She cut little swabs of ribs, toes, and eyes,
broken Q-Tips held down by slick-smooth pearls
of glue against matte black construction paper.
II.
Flipping channels from the couch, we see a show
about Africa. Perhaps we’ll learn about lions.
As corpses appear, I quickly cover her eyes.
I click off the TV, amazed at my lapse.
Quiet seconds pass. Then, “Daddy, what
was that?”
III.
Sixty-five thousand fled the church, stampeded
to the school, the grave of masses. Armed with dirt
clods and rocks, fingernails and teeth, no match
for the Hutus. Then they watched each other die.
There’s a place called Murambi, where the walls are lined
with the bones of babies. Eggshell skulls are cracked.
Shivers of femurs. Fractured ulnae.
IV.
Saying grace, I feel the bones in my daughter’s hand.
The Q-Tip skeleton stares from the fridge.
About the Poet:
Elijah Burrell holds his MFA from the Bennington Writing Seminars. His writing has appeared in Measure, The Sugar House Review, Structo, Swink Magazine, Cedars, The Country Dog Review, and many others. He received the 2009 Cecil A. Blue Award in Poetry and the 2010 Jane Kenyon Scholarship at Bennington College. Recently, two of his poems were featured on The Missouri Review’s audio podcast. Burrell teaches creative writing and literature at Lincoln University and resides in Jefferson City, Missouri with his wife and two little girls.
About the Sound of Sugar:
We’ve loved reading the work that we’ve published (clearly), so now we want an opportunity to better hear our contributors. We will feature an audio recording of a poem from one of our seven issues, read by the poet and updated every couple of weeks. This an open invitation to all contributors from any of our issues, we were delighted to print your work, now we’re eager to hear it.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Saturday, June 8, 2013
The Sound of Sugar...Julia Bouwsma
Bodil The Animal Lover
Bodil Joensen was a Danish pornographic actress who also ran a small farm and animal husbandry business. Known for performing acts of bestiality with her dogs, stallion, and boar in footage that was exploited for numerous pornographic films, she died in 1985 as the result of alcoholism and possible suicide.
In the old pictures, I am solemn-faced—my hand
is around the neck of my collie, knobby
knees under my school kilt. Always,
I stand apart from the other children.
•
Escape was simply anywhere out of Moder’s gaze.
At twelve, it was the Hundige train station. There were always
stray dogs there, and I kept crusts of bread in my pocket.
One day, I sat watching two dogs sniffing
each other under the tail, circling, sniffing
each other’s asses again,
when a man saw me watching.
I said, Wouldn’t it be funny if people greeted each other that way?
The man and I talked until someone told Moder.
Moder called the police.
The man, a known pedophile,
was sent to jail.
Moder thought I’d been raped, so she beat me in the attic
to let the Devil out.
I raged in the attic for days—
it seems the devil did not want to leave me. I screamed,
When I grow up, I’ll fuck boars!
I did not live with Moder much longer after that.
•
Dogs just lick when they want to lick—
Spot is my friend. Alone
in the house, without heat or light,
we go to bed together. We share
a biscuit, talk until we fall asleep.
She understands what I am.
•
During his first mating, a boar must be taught
to make love.
At the breeding center, it is my job to teach him.
Young boars run together develop bad habits,
the most common—servicing
the rectum.
It is my job to ensure vaginal entry, also
that he does not mount the front end
of the sow.
The development of his confidence is vital.
•
The farmers’ wives all hate me.
Their husbands all try to screw me.
I do not let them,
but the money stops coming in:
the farm rent due
and then the truck…
Finally, one day, I go
to Copenhagen to
answer the ad.
•
When the movie men come from far away: America, Japan,
I welcome them all.
• Some language from the third section is adapted from a 1980 interview: http:// bit.ly/RaxcK. Some language in the fourth section is adapted from an article on pig husbandry: http://bit.ly/HHU1nw.
About the Poet:
About the Sound of Sugar:
We’ve loved reading the work that we’ve published (clearly), so now we want an opportunity to better hear our contributors. We will feature an audio recording of a poem from one of our seven issues, read by the poet and updated every couple of weeks. This an open invitation to all contributors from any of our issues, we were delighted to print your work, now we’re eager to hear it.
Bodil Joensen was a Danish pornographic actress who also ran a small farm and animal husbandry business. Known for performing acts of bestiality with her dogs, stallion, and boar in footage that was exploited for numerous pornographic films, she died in 1985 as the result of alcoholism and possible suicide.
In the old pictures, I am solemn-faced—my hand
is around the neck of my collie, knobby
knees under my school kilt. Always,
I stand apart from the other children.
•
Escape was simply anywhere out of Moder’s gaze.
At twelve, it was the Hundige train station. There were always
stray dogs there, and I kept crusts of bread in my pocket.
One day, I sat watching two dogs sniffing
each other under the tail, circling, sniffing
each other’s asses again,
when a man saw me watching.
I said, Wouldn’t it be funny if people greeted each other that way?
The man and I talked until someone told Moder.
Moder called the police.
The man, a known pedophile,
was sent to jail.
Moder thought I’d been raped, so she beat me in the attic
to let the Devil out.
I raged in the attic for days—
it seems the devil did not want to leave me. I screamed,
When I grow up, I’ll fuck boars!
I did not live with Moder much longer after that.
•
Dogs just lick when they want to lick—
Spot is my friend. Alone
in the house, without heat or light,
we go to bed together. We share
a biscuit, talk until we fall asleep.
She understands what I am.
•
During his first mating, a boar must be taught
to make love.
At the breeding center, it is my job to teach him.
Young boars run together develop bad habits,
the most common—servicing
the rectum.
It is my job to ensure vaginal entry, also
that he does not mount the front end
of the sow.
The development of his confidence is vital.
•
The farmers’ wives all hate me.
Their husbands all try to screw me.
I do not let them,
but the money stops coming in:
the farm rent due
and then the truck…
Finally, one day, I go
to Copenhagen to
answer the ad.
•
When the movie men come from far away: America, Japan,
I welcome them all.
• Some language from the third section is adapted from a 1980 interview: http:// bit.ly/RaxcK. Some language in the fourth section is adapted from an article on pig husbandry: http://bit.ly/HHU1nw.
About the Poet:
Julia Bouwsma's poems and reviews have appeared in publications such as Colorado Review, Cutthroat, The Progressive, Puerto del Sol, Weave Magazine, and Wisconsin Review. A self-employed writer, editor, teacher, and farmer, she lives off-grid in the mountains of western Maine. More information about her work can be found at www.juliabouwsma.com
About the Sound of Sugar:
We’ve loved reading the work that we’ve published (clearly), so now we want an opportunity to better hear our contributors. We will feature an audio recording of a poem from one of our seven issues, read by the poet and updated every couple of weeks. This an open invitation to all contributors from any of our issues, we were delighted to print your work, now we’re eager to hear it.
Saturday, May 25, 2013
The Sound of Sugar....Stephanie E. Schlaifer
Similitude
The room that they
have brought us to
is dark you cannot
see the body
not because of this
but because of this
you might expect
a service someone
to officiate
but it’s nothing
but waiting
you and the room’s
true elephant
handsome as a piece
of furniture accordingly
appointed Purposely,
no one is looking
in it Ask why
it is so dark
why the room
is red why
the room is always
red and gracious
as a hotel bar
a red room
like the one
on television heavy
curtains covering
false windows
a riddle in its sleep
which hastens you
to navigate
an opening Imagine then
an otherwise clear
night in winter
sharp glass
a quarter-mile from the
Fort George
Island Bridge
the glove compartment
splintering
her chest And now
so many visitors
cake makeup
a barricade
of tacky wreaths
If navy blue
is dark enough
ask why
you cannot
see the body
About the Poet:
Stephanie E. Schlaifer is originally from Atlanta, GA and works as an artist and freelance editor in St. Louis, MO. She received her BFA in sculpture and BA in English literature from Washington University in St. Louis, and an MFA in poetry from the University of lowa. Stephanie is a combative Boggler and a compulsive baker. It is rumored that two men once arm-wrestled each other to death for the last slice of her pecan pie. She is currently working on a series of poems about historical weather events and a collection of children’s books in verse.
About the Sound of Sugar:
We’ve loved reading the work that we’ve published (clearly), so now we want an opportunity to better hear our contributors. We will feature an audio recording of a poem from one of our seven issues, read by the poet and updated every couple of weeks. This an open invitation to all contributors from any of our issues, we were delighted to print your work, now we’re eager to hear it.
The room that they
have brought us to
is dark you cannot
see the body
not because of this
but because of this
you might expect
a service someone
to officiate
but it’s nothing
but waiting
you and the room’s
true elephant
handsome as a piece
of furniture accordingly
appointed Purposely,
no one is looking
in it Ask why
it is so dark
why the room
is red why
the room is always
red and gracious
as a hotel bar
a red room
like the one
on television heavy
curtains covering
false windows
a riddle in its sleep
which hastens you
to navigate
an opening Imagine then
an otherwise clear
night in winter
sharp glass
a quarter-mile from the
Fort George
Island Bridge
the glove compartment
splintering
her chest And now
so many visitors
cake makeup
a barricade
of tacky wreaths
If navy blue
is dark enough
ask why
you cannot
see the body
About the Poet:
Stephanie E. Schlaifer is originally from Atlanta, GA and works as an artist and freelance editor in St. Louis, MO. She received her BFA in sculpture and BA in English literature from Washington University in St. Louis, and an MFA in poetry from the University of lowa. Stephanie is a combative Boggler and a compulsive baker. It is rumored that two men once arm-wrestled each other to death for the last slice of her pecan pie. She is currently working on a series of poems about historical weather events and a collection of children’s books in verse.
About the Sound of Sugar:
We’ve loved reading the work that we’ve published (clearly), so now we want an opportunity to better hear our contributors. We will feature an audio recording of a poem from one of our seven issues, read by the poet and updated every couple of weeks. This an open invitation to all contributors from any of our issues, we were delighted to print your work, now we’re eager to hear it.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
The Sound of Sugar....Patrick Thomas Henry
“Death, If You Don’t Mind, Please Come To The Front Of The Class”
teacher adjusts the half
moons of her glasses, her chalk
ticking against the slate
in three crumbling clicks, &
dust sprinkles like incense
ash cast from a silver thurible
onto the sooty erasers’
plastic catafalque ledge, &
the boy pushes himself off
by his elbows, his black sweat-
shirt, sizes too big, gathers
over his bony hips, &
the rheumy-eyed class mute,
expressionless, turns aside, turns
pale, turns to limestone white,
blue-veined note paper, &
the boy steps to teacher’s
tallies, graphite powder,
chalk dust, graveling the path
beyond a roster of the listless &
the inattentive, the absent
About the Poet:
Patrick Thomas Henry holds an MA in English Literature from Bucknell University and an MFA in Creative Writing from Rutgers University. Currently, he is pursuing his Ph.D. at the George Washington University. His fiction, poetry, and reviews have appeared (or are forthcoming) in Green Briar Review, Revolution House, The Writing Disorder, The Writing Disorder Anthology, Northville Review, Sugar House Review, Modern Language Studies, and The Short Review. He also contributes to The Story Prize’s blog. He lives in Alexandria, VA, with his girlfriend and their cat.
About the Sound of Sugar:
We’ve loved reading the work that we’ve published (clearly), so now we want an opportunity to better hear our contributors. We will feature an audio recording of a poem from one of our seven issues, read by the poet and updated every couple of weeks. This an open invitation to all contributors from any of our issues, we were delighted to print your work, now we’re eager to hear it.
teacher adjusts the half
moons of her glasses, her chalk
ticking against the slate
in three crumbling clicks, &
dust sprinkles like incense
ash cast from a silver thurible
onto the sooty erasers’
plastic catafalque ledge, &
the boy pushes himself off
by his elbows, his black sweat-
shirt, sizes too big, gathers
over his bony hips, &
the rheumy-eyed class mute,
expressionless, turns aside, turns
pale, turns to limestone white,
blue-veined note paper, &
the boy steps to teacher’s
tallies, graphite powder,
chalk dust, graveling the path
beyond a roster of the listless &
the inattentive, the absent
About the Poet:
Patrick Thomas Henry holds an MA in English Literature from Bucknell University and an MFA in Creative Writing from Rutgers University. Currently, he is pursuing his Ph.D. at the George Washington University. His fiction, poetry, and reviews have appeared (or are forthcoming) in Green Briar Review, Revolution House, The Writing Disorder, The Writing Disorder Anthology, Northville Review, Sugar House Review, Modern Language Studies, and The Short Review. He also contributes to The Story Prize’s blog. He lives in Alexandria, VA, with his girlfriend and their cat.
About the Sound of Sugar:
We’ve loved reading the work that we’ve published (clearly), so now we want an opportunity to better hear our contributors. We will feature an audio recording of a poem from one of our seven issues, read by the poet and updated every couple of weeks. This an open invitation to all contributors from any of our issues, we were delighted to print your work, now we’re eager to hear it.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
The Sound of Sugar...Rob Carney
A Lesson Every Shipwreck Learns Too Late
Boats don’t know they’re boats.
That’s why they can float on the water.
If they knew their anchors weren’t house keys,
knew the waves weren’t their own steady heartbeats . . .
if they knew their sails were only sails
and not them breathing out and in . . .
they’d nosedive down, plunge
suddenly as pocket change
somebody dropped. They’d lie there broken
on the living room floor.
Years from now you could visit them,
put on a wetsuit and air tank,
explore among fish and the coral kaleidoscopes,
the here-and-gone shadows of sharks,
but what do you think you’d find?
That sunken trawler was no treasure boat.
That passenger ferry was a passenger ferry.
Even you, my sloop, you’re ordinary:
sailing along toward your no less ordinary loss.
About the Poet:
Rob Carney is the author of three collections—Story Problems (Somondoco, 2011); Weather Report (Somondoco, 2006); and Boasts, Toasts, and Ghosts, winner of the 2002 Pinyon Press National Poetry Book Contest—and two chapbooks, New Fables, Old Songs, winner of the 2002 Dream Horse Press National Chapbook Competition, and This Is One Sexy Planet, winner of the Frank Cat Press Poetry Chapbook Award in 2005. Home Appraisals, a new chapbook, including several poems that first appeared in Sugar House Review, is forthcoming from Plan B Press in fall 2012. He is a Professor of English and Literature at Utah Valley University and lives in Salt Lake City.
About the Sound of Sugar:
We’ve loved reading the work that we’ve published (clearly), so now we want an opportunity to better hear our contributors. We will feature an audio recording of a poem from one of our seven issues, read by the poet and updated every couple of weeks. This an open invitation to all contributors from any of our issues, we were delighted to print your work, now we’re eager to hear it.
Saturday, April 13, 2013
The Sound of Sugar....Karen Skolfield
Frost in the Low Areas
The health survey said
he would live to 76 and I, 86.
Something to do with men’s
hearts on their worn old grapevines.
Something to do with their will
to lay down and die. In the westerns,
how glad they were to give their lives
away. Bad guy, if you can’t shoot down
a junebug’s nostril, you don’t stand
much of a chance. Men, thinking
they don’t have to cut power
to a bound-up sawblade.
Just think, Dennis says. Ten years
to yourself. No one stealing
the sheets or the last of the ham.
He says this as we make pesto.
This is how we joke with
each other, ha ha, and then
we kiss. Seriously, he says,
imagine no more socks
on the mantle. My arms
the sharp odor of garlic. Basil.
Parmesan cheese. Tonight,
a frost the herbs
won’t survive. Twilight
we worked the rows,
frantic, our gentleness gone.
Behind us, nothing but stems
and their faint heat. Before us,
the first crisp morning.
About the Poet:
Karen Skolfield’s manuscript Frost in the Low Areas won the First Book Award for Poetry from Zone 3 Press and will be published fall 2013. She is a contributing editor at the literary magazine Stirring and her poems have appeared in 2011 Best of the Net Anthology, Cave Wall, Memorious, Rattle, Tar River Poetry, Verse Daily, West Branch, and others. Visit her online at http://www.karenskolfield.
About the Sound of Sugar:
We’ve loved reading the work that we’ve published (clearly), so now we want an opportunity to better hear our contributors. We will feature an audio recording of a poem from one of our seven issues, read by the poet and updated every couple of weeks. This an open invitation to all contributors from any of our issues, we were delighted to print your work, now we’re eager to hear it.
Saturday, March 30, 2013
The Sound of Sugar....Kate Greenstreet
719
The old man reaches out his hand
and the young man
reaches out his hand
but they’re not quite close enough to touch.
We come upon the unexpected
news of your death.
It’s a work day.
Maybe all this sweating does some good?
The main thing is your idea (you said)
of who you are.
Then the rearrangement
of the furniture, everyone in black.
Though isn’t there always someone in a dark
color not black, because they don’t have black.
Or maybe, for once,
I wanted to express myself.
Sometimes, now, I think
you’re really in Brazil
or Colorado. Free
to start a different life,
take up
a different instrument.
—Some leaves never let go.
—But don’t they always fall in the end?
—I don’t know. Presumably.
—Are they dead? Even if they still hang on?
—Depends. On your definition. But yes.
About the poet:
Kate Greenstreet's new book Young Tambling is just out from Ahsahta Press. Her other books are case sensitive and The Last 4 Things, also with Ahsahta. For more information, visit Kate's site at kickingwind.com.
More inforamtion about Young Tambling, including how to purchase, can be found at: https://ahsahtapress.org/product/young-tambling/.
(Attn Northern Utah friends!) Kate Greenstreet will be reading with Janet Holmes on Monday, April 8th at 7 pm in The Art Barn (54 Finch Lane, SLC, UT). Presented by Sugar House Review and City Art the event is free and open to the public.
About the Sound of Sugar:
We’ve loved reading the work that we’ve published (clearly), so now we want an opportunity to better hear our contributors.We will feature an audio recording of a poem from one of our seven issues, read by the poet and updated every couple of weeks. This an open invitation to all contributors from any of our issues, we were delighted to print your work, now we’re eager to hear it.
The old man reaches out his hand
and the young man
reaches out his hand
but they’re not quite close enough to touch.
We come upon the unexpected
news of your death.
It’s a work day.
Maybe all this sweating does some good?
The main thing is your idea (you said)
of who you are.
Then the rearrangement
of the furniture, everyone in black.
Though isn’t there always someone in a dark
color not black, because they don’t have black.
Or maybe, for once,
I wanted to express myself.
Sometimes, now, I think
you’re really in Brazil
or Colorado. Free
to start a different life,
take up
a different instrument.
—Some leaves never let go.
—But don’t they always fall in the end?
—I don’t know. Presumably.
—Are they dead? Even if they still hang on?
—Depends. On your definition. But yes.
About the poet:
Kate Greenstreet's new book Young Tambling is just out from Ahsahta Press. Her other books are case sensitive and The Last 4 Things, also with Ahsahta. For more information, visit Kate's site at kickingwind.com.
More inforamtion about Young Tambling, including how to purchase, can be found at: https://ahsahtapress.org/product/young-tambling/.
(Attn Northern Utah friends!) Kate Greenstreet will be reading with Janet Holmes on Monday, April 8th at 7 pm in The Art Barn (54 Finch Lane, SLC, UT). Presented by Sugar House Review and City Art the event is free and open to the public.
About the Sound of Sugar:
We’ve loved reading the work that we’ve published (clearly), so now we want an opportunity to better hear our contributors.We will feature an audio recording of a poem from one of our seven issues, read by the poet and updated every couple of weeks. This an open invitation to all contributors from any of our issues, we were delighted to print your work, now we’re eager to hear it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)