Poetry Contest – April 2015

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“You Are a Rebel” by Laura Buccieri

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get up at 5am (Read 10 pages of Andrea Gibson) workout (Think about writing a love poem) shower (Decide that is a bad idea) dress (Create a poem based on your dream last night) go to work (Read Richard Siken on the L train) make calls (Think about traveling to Iowa to write about farming)…

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“I Will Tell You My Sins” by Claire Thompson

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Cedar pews moaning that painedcreak of antique wood under our weight.I was a child the last time I was insidea church. This is the monstermade of smoke, thinner and greyer than youhad imagined—shimmering and seepingwith its cloying sweetness: a sicklybreath of rotten plants. I was a child,folded in bed under a quilt left threadbareby generations…

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“Mulholland” by Caroline Hayes

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Everyone seems to have such good political thoughts I want a nice lady as my president on her period and all that I remember swimming in pools grabbing clumps of hair on accident Of course that will happen I try to be alone and there is always someone drinking from a flask riding a bike…

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“First” by Becca Pecaut

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Age of tenderness plunder us righteous burry us heaven-bound.   Was I wiser fraught with salacious insecurities?   Sweating wine. Between us: one a sprinter the other drunk.   What’s the difference in a chase?   Embraces with a colander effect, draining caress, sopping intuition.   The scrutiny I provide myself like blanket, like kinship…

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“Manual” by Scarlett Grace McCarthy

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The manboy likes his blue striped sheets kept covered. His bound book, bound girl flat inside.    You will be his new dried flower. Next gift for grandma.    On days when he reads he will let you lick the sweat off. Move your hands in crop circles.    His knuckles remind you suck in….

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“Another Kind of Sleep” by Susannah Maltz

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I. I was twenty-one, and had just been diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder of the connective tissue. All the flexible and exulting notches of my body, the parts that are most useful in an emergency, they were all turning to stone. It was like being possessed by the devil, if the devil were an old…

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“To Climb a Waterfall” By James Piscitelli

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Water falls on me relentlessly, Like the accumulation of every tear that’s ever left my eyes. The weight of oppression pounds on my shoulders, each drop bringing me closer to my demise. The cascade chips away at my reflection, While a sense of urgency swirls in the mist. It clouds my memory, Like the dreams…

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