Collective Unrest

 

My Daughter’s Room 11.09.16

May 29, 2019

Last night while
my daughter
dreamt

that the wind

was brushing past
her uncut skin

as it streamed
through all
the shattered
skylights,

the country
crept in

and re-plastered
the open
ceiling.

 

 

Claudine Nash is a psychologist and award-winning poet whose collections include The Wild Essential (Kelsay Books, 2017), Parts per Trillion (Aldrich Press, 2016) and the chapbook The Problem with Loving Ghosts  (Finishing Line Press, 2014). Her work has received Pushcart Prize nominations and has appeared in a wide range of magazines and anthologies including Asimov’s Science Fiction, BlazeVOX, Cloudbank, Haight Ashbury Literary Journal, and Dime Show Review. Website:
www.claudinenashpoetry.com. This poem was previously published in Yellow Chair Review.

Please follow and like us:
error
In category:
Newer Post

Elegy for the Black Man Who Survived a Police Encounter Today

I thought you were dead when I first saw you. Ghost of my dreams, you are what I see when the news tells me who's laying in their pool of blood this time. But you are not where I imagined,…
Read
Older Post

Upon Discovering You Have Begun to Lurk in the Neighborhood, I Complete This in Finality

(After seven years) you violated the ultimate human(istic) agreement: I keep to my side of the bed, you keep to yours. Staring at your constantly-fading face and evaporating outline, if I learned anything, it’s that I was made for better…
Read
Random Post

complacency

Is telling the age of silent film to keep tongue-tied at the rise of the talkies. Is expecting a shining staple not to resist the fanged dentition of the remover. Is demanding a rainbow not to mourn the movement of…
Read
Random Post

In the wake, so intimate, There is

The following pieces, "In the wake," "so intimate," and "There is," by J.I. Kleinberg are visual poems from an ongoing series of collages built from phrases created unintentionally through the accident of magazine page design.       Artist, poet,…
Read
Random Post

echo

After the wonder that is Allen Ginsberg’s “Howl”   I have seen the best minds of my generation rotting, stowing away in apartments and alleyways searching for something to fill the abysses and gaps and voids and holes boring through…
Read
Random Post

survivor

TW for sexual assault I never thought of myself as a survivor / just in the wrong place at the wrong time / don’t get in an elevator with someone who makes you uncomfortable, just take the stairs his first…
Read