No women here. No women at all.
Categories
Poetry
Tata worked as a waitress at her family's restaurant by the beach.
And the ducks give up their dabbling at the lily patch
loops of razor wire fences
Man on a Rocking Chair in San Juan In San Juan I found a man rocking on his balcony, the floors creaking, the glaze in the gaze, a daffodil stem hanging from his lips. I asked him was he […]
You will be the midwife To whatever little I have, You will be the midwife To what little miseries I cherish You will be the mast To my lost catamaran You will be the frozen froth of […]
I shot myself But I can’t seem to recall how it felt
Harsh, but stay with me.
This issue is dedicated to the memory of Dr. Abby Lippman (1939-2017). “As we were preparing to go on-line with this issue, we were hit with an emotional sledgehammer. Abby Lippman – a frequent contributor to Serai, a dear […]
After Mark Rothko’s Untitled (Red on Red), 1969 Montreal Museum of Fine Arts, Peace Pavilion
Musée Rodin, 1972 I saw this body I am sure of it. Flesh and bronze. In one long stare, In fixated, circular study, In love with this thoracic cage, Vertical breakline, rack Of ribs, sinews strong, Tying life and […]
Cayo Santa Maria (Written in Cayo Santa Maria, Cuba in February 2017, right after meditation on the beach) Crashing wave reaching high up on to the beach, then disappearing like a dream, like some understanding, into silent sand (a […]
Chronic Fatigue System Too tired to exercise (who gets mono in their 50s?), endorphins droop and symptoms of menopause return, drench night’s sheets. And the bones, breaking down, what that other poet said, ‘the leaking’ or ‘letting in of […]
Peuple dilué investigates the psychology of bodies untethered to borders and regions. Originally inspired by the Roma population of Sutka, Macedonia, this on-going series explores the idea of a people versus a nation and transient identities.
Early Work History: Sold sugary fruit-flavored shaved ice piraguas on busy South Bronx streets for chump change. Opened laundromat mornings to sweep mop roll down lock steely cocoon face at night. Loaded outdoor lumberyard truck with plywood sheet-rock […]
It feels like a story at the right moment
The Stone told The Sculptor what it wanted to be.
Seule et honteuse dans mon lit
Can I look down and see my ageing, knuckled hands...
After the storm, turned my back on my lover till he sighed and left.
Two stories, one set in Canada, the other in India
The Hindu goddess Durga represents strength, motherhood and the victory of good over evil.
The images of flowers framed in dark secrets
a woman clutching the arm of a cloud
He drove me in a TATA cab through the streets of Old and New Delhi. The air un-breathable. I heard his bone voice breaking down telling why he didn’t vote for “the man who wears a […]
Ellipse I am the chaos of my father’s order I am the conscience of his delight I am the fantasy of his prison I am the mirror of my father’s light I am the axis of his revolution I […]
I came looking for you on the streets of Montparnasse boulevard Arago, rue Saint-Jacques, rue Mouffetard, boulevard Raspail place de l’Odéon I came looking for a woman solitary not afraid living on coffee and fine on the money men […]
Canadian poetry The birds are quiet here. They do not shout or bang about the window openings. They are discreet and twitter from a distance screened by shrub and fence, minding their business. Perfume All my life, […]
Woman in the dream of the pink house I listen to you tell, Éloïse. Years before this dream. Perhaps it is taboo because it is ugly. We are stripping corn and talking. I stare at your bruised […]
In the Drear Light of Zoo I see my shadow Elongated Etiolated, uprooted And high Plugged into the miracle Of electricity I buzz harmonies Of post-bop Kabala The Caliban of a soul I have Crouches in hiding […]
