3 Poems
Julia Lisella Thoughts about Hunger on a Morning Walk All life is like that a pursuit to satiate hunger hunger for love hunger for food hunger for … and in pursuing it not beauty but violence which eats that hunger persistent as the ants in the cleave of sink the wasps boring out of the hole in the ground the dog whining for the company of some mammal nearby the squirrel carrying half a bagel across the lawn and in a flash dropping it in pursuit of another catch more life in which to pursue hunger the lady in nightshorts watering the lamppost and the curved brick edging while the grass beneath her slippers yearns this is the way we trick ourselves decorating the hunger with potted plants and plastic figurines my text to my son 200 miles away have a good day I love you which is not a real greeting but the hunger to lift him again in my arms as he once was even my mother at 97 still feeding me her hunger, her worry, her thirst her arms nearly breakable in sleep joints no longer connecting elbow knees and toes parrying, contemplating—these are just fillers like so much refuse on the shore line of a city beach evidence that we lived, broke open a beer, relished a drumstick or an apple—cores and bones washing up reminding us of hunger now at the kitchen sink the miniscule ants march ferociously into the sprayed Raid as if each still in life, still in pursuit still hungry Passing the Baby ' If he were yours I know you’d fly him through the air. Your arms still remember, but you pull him toward your chest let his feet dangle near your waist. Big eyes in his round face focus on your finger dancing, bending. He watches your forehead as you arch your eyebrows for him. He gurgles. Now your arms straighten to pass him back to me. I clutch beneath his tiny armpits nearly feel his torso warm, expanding, and now I see you watching me who’s too afraid to hold him close or long-- fast as our kids grown and gone I slice him through the air return him to his mother’s arms. Pantoum for 4th Grade(for T.S) You were that still girl in the room arms rare twigs reaching out as though the rest of you’d been consumed by fire or water. Your eyes focused, sharp. Your arms rare twigs barely reaching out you seemed to be calling me to you by fire or water. Your eyes focused and sharp, as if our friendship had always been in view. You seemed to call me to you wrapped my feelings in your dark wool sweater as if our friendship had always been in view and recess no longer torture. We wrapped our feelings in woolen sweaters, everything we did so awkward teachers feared us. At recess, no longer torture, we spoke our secret language. No one owned us. Everything we did so awkward teachers feared us thought we knew we’d crack on contact. Speaking our secret language, no one owned us. We gathered weeds and flowers from the concrete. Some days we thought we’d crack on contact as though the rest of us had been consumed. We’d gather weeds and flowers from the concrete. You were that still girl in the room. |
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About the Author: Julia Lisella is the author of two full-length collections of poetry: Always and Terrain (WordTech Editions) and the chapbook, Love Song Hiroshima (Finishing Line Press). Her poems have appeared in Alaska Quarterly Review, Antiphon, Ocean State Review, Literary Mama, Salamander, and many others. Julia is Associate Professor of English at Regis College.
