MAY DAY! 2021
21. Lisette Boer + Kate Belew
What lesson do stinging nettles attempt to teach?
I keep opening the book like my hands
will find tenderness ready to unfold among
fingers as wildflowers. I tried to listen
to the harvest when the leaves started to curl and
wow, did it have a lot to say. I tell you,
there is no shame in turning back into yourself.
This is the way of the world. Meaning,
we must look back on what we started to learn
like blades of grass, the way birch bark curls
uncovering what is new. Do you remember
how you felt that morning. Not the first, but
when you realized we were mirrors to each other.
Do you smile when you catch eyes with a stranger?
What lesson do stinging nettles attempt to teach?
I keep opening the book like my hands
will find tenderness ready to unfold among
fingers as wildflowers. I tried to listen
to the harvest when the leaves started to curl and
wow, did it have a lot to say. I tell you,
there is no shame in turning back into yourself.
This is the way of the world. Meaning,
we must look back on what we started to learn
like blades of grass, the way birch bark curls
uncovering what is new. Do you remember
how you felt that morning. Not the first, but
when you realized we were mirrors to each other.
Do you smile when you catch eyes with a stranger?
22. Jennifer Minotti + Nicole Menzzasalma
Do you smile when you catch eyes with a stranger?
Or have harrowing consanguinity blemished expectations for painless connections?
Creating a story in your mind to quench lonely desires.
Decades misspent until one morning you whoop, "Cue the confetti!"
I'll spend my days loving myself!
Surfing riptides through barrier reefs, cresting effervescent waves of
oceanic adventures. Frequency mellowfied by
sweet froth, anointed by leeward teardrops.
You and me and the sea make three.
Triumvirate! Is this uninvited stranger not cloaked as we?
How curious to implore mercy to a mermaid?
Sea salt awakening childlike innocence, denuding the divine school.
Breathless encounters mere smirky seconds
When the moon phases through its cycle, do you track the tides?
Do you smile when you catch eyes with a stranger?
Or have harrowing consanguinity blemished expectations for painless connections?
Creating a story in your mind to quench lonely desires.
Decades misspent until one morning you whoop, "Cue the confetti!"
I'll spend my days loving myself!
Surfing riptides through barrier reefs, cresting effervescent waves of
oceanic adventures. Frequency mellowfied by
sweet froth, anointed by leeward teardrops.
You and me and the sea make three.
Triumvirate! Is this uninvited stranger not cloaked as we?
How curious to implore mercy to a mermaid?
Sea salt awakening childlike innocence, denuding the divine school.
Breathless encounters mere smirky seconds
When the moon phases through its cycle, do you track the tides?
23. LKN Poetry + Kate Belew
When the moon phases through its cycle, do you track the tides?
I do. Swiftly, with a pen arched through constellation
of me forgetting memories of how a sky can forget
because the sky ages too, meaning
comes, when one knows how not to look up
and tonight the new moon, speaks
with my head buried on my desk — drenched
in the sweat of yesterday's list. What waits
are the longing clouds that scribbles... regrets
are half-moons themselves, slivers
slithers the silver-fingers on asking — how
will we move forward? What can I
reminisce under our stars — Bravery, on-palms
Did you remember to call your mother at the end of the world?
When the moon phases through its cycle, do you track the tides?
I do. Swiftly, with a pen arched through constellation
of me forgetting memories of how a sky can forget
because the sky ages too, meaning
comes, when one knows how not to look up
and tonight the new moon, speaks
with my head buried on my desk — drenched
in the sweat of yesterday's list. What waits
are the longing clouds that scribbles... regrets
are half-moons themselves, slivers
slithers the silver-fingers on asking — how
will we move forward? What can I
reminisce under our stars — Bravery, on-palms
Did you remember to call your mother at the end of the world?
24. Jonathan Memmert + Jennifer Rodriguez
Did you remember to call your mother at the end of the world?
Would you have a word for her now, after a lifetime of silence?
Ambulance sirens I never paid attention to before, now hearing every wail,
Washed-out billboard signs by the highway, to buy a new pair of jeans, try a new cocktail
Constant motion city seizes in lockdown standstill, only the hospitals throb,
You feel your hands further and further away from touch and in that pause
Time suspends in what seems an impenetrable glance to life lived,
-First your teeth, then your face, then your hands, first your teeth, then...
sing happy birthday in your mind while you fully wash hands, taken for granted now real.
I imagine my mother sitting towards the sunset, by the sand, by the water,
I am gazing now out window views cut off from sun, from sky, from street
As if what I always thought I knew has now newly, strangely, just begun,
How many world-ends has she witnessed since you were born?
Is hand washing a different kind of ritual?
Did you remember to call your mother at the end of the world?
Would you have a word for her now, after a lifetime of silence?
Ambulance sirens I never paid attention to before, now hearing every wail,
Washed-out billboard signs by the highway, to buy a new pair of jeans, try a new cocktail
Constant motion city seizes in lockdown standstill, only the hospitals throb,
You feel your hands further and further away from touch and in that pause
Time suspends in what seems an impenetrable glance to life lived,
-First your teeth, then your face, then your hands, first your teeth, then...
sing happy birthday in your mind while you fully wash hands, taken for granted now real.
I imagine my mother sitting towards the sunset, by the sand, by the water,
I am gazing now out window views cut off from sun, from sky, from street
As if what I always thought I knew has now newly, strangely, just begun,
How many world-ends has she witnessed since you were born?
Is hand washing a different kind of ritual?
25. Eddie Degrand + Estelle Mandeville
Is hand washing a different kind of ritual?
Something that cleanses and redeems us from germs?
We don’t pretend that the belief comes between
The hoping to be safe and the doing
penance. We keep all the air we can hold.
Stocked up in our lungs, anticipating
cold in our wrists, deliberating
What to do when this is all over.
We keep what we took when it’s over.
The memories become artifacts in the libraries of our hearts.
There was nothing to do with the memories.
The flow of the tap water keeps us moving forward
and we leave it on. And you with a cup that you brought here from home:
when the wind picks up, do you feel afraid or do you love change?
Is hand washing a different kind of ritual?
Something that cleanses and redeems us from germs?
We don’t pretend that the belief comes between
The hoping to be safe and the doing
penance. We keep all the air we can hold.
Stocked up in our lungs, anticipating
cold in our wrists, deliberating
What to do when this is all over.
We keep what we took when it’s over.
The memories become artifacts in the libraries of our hearts.
There was nothing to do with the memories.
The flow of the tap water keeps us moving forward
and we leave it on. And you with a cup that you brought here from home:
when the wind picks up, do you feel afraid or do you love change?
26. Amy Palen
“When the wind picks up, do you feel afraid or do you love change?”
Us children gathered restlessly in rings, nestling
Around solemn-eyed Ava, reading from a list of questions,
A personality quiz she’d stolen, maybe from her mother’s magazines,
But sparkling with additions that she must have made herself.
“Do you see ghosts flickering at twilight, or only empty space?”
With great deliberation, picking at my pigtails, I looked out
At all my peers, choosing the answers that would reveal
Our future soulmates. Was I a courageous person, a lover
Of change, a person who deserved tremendous company?
“Would you rather have gills and swim, or wings and fly?”
I whispered to Kayla-with-the-quick-grin, deciding
That what she chose I’d copy, that we’d match.
“Do you think of a response while someone is still talking or are you a violet?”
“When the wind picks up, do you feel afraid or do you love change?”
Us children gathered restlessly in rings, nestling
Around solemn-eyed Ava, reading from a list of questions,
A personality quiz she’d stolen, maybe from her mother’s magazines,
But sparkling with additions that she must have made herself.
“Do you see ghosts flickering at twilight, or only empty space?”
With great deliberation, picking at my pigtails, I looked out
At all my peers, choosing the answers that would reveal
Our future soulmates. Was I a courageous person, a lover
Of change, a person who deserved tremendous company?
“Would you rather have gills and swim, or wings and fly?”
I whispered to Kayla-with-the-quick-grin, deciding
That what she chose I’d copy, that we’d match.
“Do you think of a response while someone is still talking or are you a violet?”
27. Carla Cherry + Vicki Whicker
Do you think of a response while someone is still talking or are you a violet?
She’ll listen, she’ll promise. Yet, she’s thinking.
Is that a Snapper on the wall?
A red fish? I think she has been drinking.
Violet liqueur, likely, it makes her talk.
Broad shoulders and dark eyes? She’ll be winking
like a star between Jupiter and Mars—
he’ll smile, walk over, glasses a-clinking,
crazy eyes lit like the wolf-moon.
She declines his lure for interlinking.
Better to mix yeast and flour and water,
sugar and eggs for a sweet cake baking.
It’s the proper response to any question.
At the end of the world do you make bread or something else with your hands?
Do you think of a response while someone is still talking or are you a violet?
She’ll listen, she’ll promise. Yet, she’s thinking.
Is that a Snapper on the wall?
A red fish? I think she has been drinking.
Violet liqueur, likely, it makes her talk.
Broad shoulders and dark eyes? She’ll be winking
like a star between Jupiter and Mars—
he’ll smile, walk over, glasses a-clinking,
crazy eyes lit like the wolf-moon.
She declines his lure for interlinking.
Better to mix yeast and flour and water,
sugar and eggs for a sweet cake baking.
It’s the proper response to any question.
At the end of the world do you make bread or something else with your hands?
28. Gergory Kanhai + Rip Brown Jr.
At the end of the world do you make bread or something else with your hands?
When bread is the new world and hands are our saviors;
Our tongues flames with a lick of salt,
Reality elongates into fingers, tongues, loaves and salty edifices.
Streets and avenues begin to flow past like Sunday mornings,
while bursts of memories come to life in the brave left behind,
memories that bloom in the trees in the prickly spring,
then turn ripe in the amber harvest,
to bring a touch of warmth to the city.
Who am I then? Who prefers to dream instead of remember,
what the world was before my hands began a new one in New York City
I who see each train car crossing the Hudson as an empty sepulchre.
I should like to no longer wait for NJ transit.
At the end of the world do you make bread or something else with your hands?
When bread is the new world and hands are our saviors;
Our tongues flames with a lick of salt,
Reality elongates into fingers, tongues, loaves and salty edifices.
Streets and avenues begin to flow past like Sunday mornings,
while bursts of memories come to life in the brave left behind,
memories that bloom in the trees in the prickly spring,
then turn ripe in the amber harvest,
to bring a touch of warmth to the city.
Who am I then? Who prefers to dream instead of remember,
what the world was before my hands began a new one in New York City
I who see each train car crossing the Hudson as an empty sepulchre.
I should like to no longer wait for NJ transit.
29. Ming Jia + Mab Jones
I should like to no longer wait for NJ transit -
the open road doesn't feel like itself when i'm on it.
Unease seeps, floods up from the familiar route,
in the darkness, keep it light: say it's just a mood
and don't let that unsettling sense overpower —
these train track lines on my face reveal all my hours
spent speared on a needle of needless lost time,
it's not wasted if you want it - i keep saying it’s fine
and if you don't want it, well, let's just pretend
it's the light, not a platform, where this tunnel ends
Winding through the dark, in mute anticipation
maybe it’s the journey to fear, not the destination
In any case the carrier comes, and so I expect
to be seated, 80s scatter of carpet
I should like to no longer wait for NJ transit -
the open road doesn't feel like itself when i'm on it.
Unease seeps, floods up from the familiar route,
in the darkness, keep it light: say it's just a mood
and don't let that unsettling sense overpower —
these train track lines on my face reveal all my hours
spent speared on a needle of needless lost time,
it's not wasted if you want it - i keep saying it’s fine
and if you don't want it, well, let's just pretend
it's the light, not a platform, where this tunnel ends
Winding through the dark, in mute anticipation
maybe it’s the journey to fear, not the destination
In any case the carrier comes, and so I expect
to be seated, 80s scatter of carpet
30. Michael Freeman + Kate Belew
To be seated, 80s scatter of carpet
and looking up at some ceiling of
well-placed gems ready to guide me.
I always knew that constellations were
like gems, a reflection of the state I once was
a long echo of history, time
evaporated, an even distilled consciousness
tumbling out like marbles themselves
Their chaos is joy and will be remembered
here from this ground, looking out
Even if I remain alone
I have the rain, constellations of
the ever-remaining oneness of us
should like the smear of weeds outside
To be seated, 80s scatter of carpet
and looking up at some ceiling of
well-placed gems ready to guide me.
I always knew that constellations were
like gems, a reflection of the state I once was
a long echo of history, time
evaporated, an even distilled consciousness
tumbling out like marbles themselves
Their chaos is joy and will be remembered
here from this ground, looking out
Even if I remain alone
I have the rain, constellations of
the ever-remaining oneness of us
should like the smear of weeds outside
31. Ashleigh Allen + Joe Dobkin
should like the smear of weeds outside
should see it godly in fact, as
a man whistling by, compostable
unlashed from his collection of items
he contributes a "why" to the catastrophe
“Thx” catastrophe says (mouth full) “What
is the carrot for? is this another watercolour?"
is your appetite loud enough to
smile at soup and sandwich? eat from
the people — take its
time to dig out a mandolin’s cave. or
give its vision back, still wrapped
the night rusts my head, outside
the window, meadowlands spreading out
should like the smear of weeds outside
should see it godly in fact, as
a man whistling by, compostable
unlashed from his collection of items
he contributes a "why" to the catastrophe
“Thx” catastrophe says (mouth full) “What
is the carrot for? is this another watercolour?"
is your appetite loud enough to
smile at soup and sandwich? eat from
the people — take its
time to dig out a mandolin’s cave. or
give its vision back, still wrapped
the night rusts my head, outside
the window, meadowlands spreading out
32. Roseann Rivera + Kate Seward
The window, meadowlands spreading out,
there is so much lavender and so much sun,
rainbow arc touched masks strewn in fields to sprout
love? Hope? Anything could be growing here.
Close call reminder: wind blown sprinkled seeds
travel faster and farther than those planted
plain to fairy ferry to green girl's house
its mysteries folded soft, sweaters of the mind,
gone missing...where to find the love? the hope?
That depends on how wide your heart, how open
bleeding tears and fears, a grounded grip home
takes you right here, right now,
to a hot mess monkey, blessed with grace:
I should like your middle name less than my first.
The window, meadowlands spreading out,
there is so much lavender and so much sun,
rainbow arc touched masks strewn in fields to sprout
love? Hope? Anything could be growing here.
Close call reminder: wind blown sprinkled seeds
travel faster and farther than those planted
plain to fairy ferry to green girl's house
its mysteries folded soft, sweaters of the mind,
gone missing...where to find the love? the hope?
That depends on how wide your heart, how open
bleeding tears and fears, a grounded grip home
takes you right here, right now,
to a hot mess monkey, blessed with grace:
I should like your middle name less than my first.
33. Jodiann Stevenson + Megha Sood
I should like your middle name less than my
first but the bell of it still rings in my
belly and chokes me. It calls me like a
haunting ghoul, rends my soul apart until
barbed pieces rust in metallic memory.
Grief thick and heavy as stone sits deep in
my chest. I want your first name in my mouth,
sacred as holy verse gently humming,
cool as a mother’s hand on the forehead
deftly breaking down skin of my worries
softly peeling back the bone of my fear
and like the soft trilling of the songbird
it spirals up my backbone crooning in
concert or flies at my ankles, running.
I should like your middle name less than my
first but the bell of it still rings in my
belly and chokes me. It calls me like a
haunting ghoul, rends my soul apart until
barbed pieces rust in metallic memory.
Grief thick and heavy as stone sits deep in
my chest. I want your first name in my mouth,
sacred as holy verse gently humming,
cool as a mother’s hand on the forehead
deftly breaking down skin of my worries
softly peeling back the bone of my fear
and like the soft trilling of the songbird
it spirals up my backbone crooning in
concert or flies at my ankles, running.
34. Emi Bergquist + Alex Neustein
through a football field in July
lumbering around the outside track
I remind myself that healing is not linear
somehow somewhere over there
a cosmic thread is weaving its way back
the monarch finds its home
witches still celebrate Beltane
bright ribbons whip with the wind
offerings are released
a bread and circus lay beyond the green carpet
somewhere over there she is still writing
coins were tossed wishes prayed garlands raised
before me a peacock feather points the way
I should tell you, I wasn’t really lost
through a football field in July
lumbering around the outside track
I remind myself that healing is not linear
somehow somewhere over there
a cosmic thread is weaving its way back
the monarch finds its home
witches still celebrate Beltane
bright ribbons whip with the wind
offerings are released
a bread and circus lay beyond the green carpet
somewhere over there she is still writing
coins were tossed wishes prayed garlands raised
before me a peacock feather points the way
I should tell you, I wasn’t really lost
35. Lisette Boer + Jane Brinkley
through a football field in July
I was floating. Don't tell me we weren't
beside the wood together. You and I both
saw what was split open and beginning to rot.
And in your haste maybe you forgot
how the forest falls down to begin anew
every new season of the geothermal
despite your unease. Eventually, we
and our laurels might make it
if the roots take time to seep through.
Until then, though,
I will slip through the steady stream
saying (and meaning it)
I should tell you, I wasn’t really lost
through a football field in July
I was floating. Don't tell me we weren't
beside the wood together. You and I both
saw what was split open and beginning to rot.
And in your haste maybe you forgot
how the forest falls down to begin anew
every new season of the geothermal
despite your unease. Eventually, we
and our laurels might make it
if the roots take time to seep through.
Until then, though,
I will slip through the steady stream
saying (and meaning it)
I should tell you, I wasn’t really lost
36. Rochelle Livingstone + Brunni Corsato
I should tell you, I wasn’t really lost
My inner compass led me on this far-flung journey
Destination unknown, I go where my feet take me
On the road less traveled, my heart as my guide
The Great Unknown is my language, no fear
By no means am I solo, I’m surrounded with love
I see more clearly with my eyes closed
One step at a time, The Universe unfolds
Life, Death, Rebirth, the cycle goes on
Infinite questing through realms and dimensions
As above so below
I was delighted to learn I am the object of your affection
I could sense your presence
when I called for directions
I should tell you, I wasn’t really lost
My inner compass led me on this far-flung journey
Destination unknown, I go where my feet take me
On the road less traveled, my heart as my guide
The Great Unknown is my language, no fear
By no means am I solo, I’m surrounded with love
I see more clearly with my eyes closed
One step at a time, The Universe unfolds
Life, Death, Rebirth, the cycle goes on
Infinite questing through realms and dimensions
As above so below
I was delighted to learn I am the object of your affection
I could sense your presence
when I called for directions
37. Joseph Lee + Lyndsi Gaylor
When I called for directions,
Siri's voice
rang
Like chamomile tea and pancakes on a Sunday.
I danced like no one was watching,
gangly.
The spirits dance inside
my electronic superhighway.
I shared dreams with the sun.
All that was left
was the questioning pull of where next.
"Turn left in 200 miles"—
I could follow
or I could wait for the warm of a lamppost.
When I called for directions,
Siri's voice
rang
Like chamomile tea and pancakes on a Sunday.
I danced like no one was watching,
gangly.
The spirits dance inside
my electronic superhighway.
I shared dreams with the sun.
All that was left
was the questioning pull of where next.
"Turn left in 200 miles"—
I could follow
or I could wait for the warm of a lamppost.
38. Jennifer Azlant + Craig Carrel
Or I could wait for the warm of a lamppost
but still, for now, the radiance need not wait up
for I have places to go and people to meet
each of which, and for whom—
a new adventure awaits
a guide: waiting (& awaiting) warming (& illuminating)
rush (& gallop) darkness (& shadow)
sharpen. every. sense. and sensibility.
For I am alive and dancing on a world stage
enlivening, and yet
an unpleasantness hangs over me
whilst grounding into plié, rising into fouetté—extending, supporting—revolutions
always stretching and reaching while I
superimpose myself in your childhood room
Or I could wait for the warm of a lamppost
but still, for now, the radiance need not wait up
for I have places to go and people to meet
each of which, and for whom—
a new adventure awaits
a guide: waiting (& awaiting) warming (& illuminating)
rush (& gallop) darkness (& shadow)
sharpen. every. sense. and sensibility.
For I am alive and dancing on a world stage
enlivening, and yet
an unpleasantness hangs over me
whilst grounding into plié, rising into fouetté—extending, supporting—revolutions
always stretching and reaching while I
superimpose myself in your childhood room
39. Tran Tran + Vinnie Maginelli
superimpose myself in your childhood room
where light chases after darkness
And offers the promise of a new day
my breath coiled into morning smoke
Clouding the delusions and illusions in my head
tomorrow, a wavering flicker
Will illuminate the future
or not. oh, what if? what if
What if it’s all a dream...that illusion I alluded to?
what am I waking up for,
When life is simpler before the dawn
and my eyes addicted to darkness?
I fight to see what’s in store, but
baby blue paint covers the landscape
superimpose myself in your childhood room
where light chases after darkness
And offers the promise of a new day
my breath coiled into morning smoke
Clouding the delusions and illusions in my head
tomorrow, a wavering flicker
Will illuminate the future
or not. oh, what if? what if
What if it’s all a dream...that illusion I alluded to?
what am I waking up for,
When life is simpler before the dawn
and my eyes addicted to darkness?
I fight to see what’s in store, but
baby blue paint covers the landscape
40. Patty Williams + Kate Belew
baby blue paint covers the landscape
bringing a calm that wasn't there before.
Where sky meets water on some vast
hidden sea of mist where I seek to find
everything I have forgotten, which
will bring a tranquility to my soul.
The only thing that changes
is my undying love I hold for you.
Meaning, tidal, meaning what breaks
with the gravitational pull of the moon
is the same as within us. Water,
and sweet warm air cleanses that which I know
this is really all we have, this now.
The rivers gurgle with your soft approach
baby blue paint covers the landscape
bringing a calm that wasn't there before.
Where sky meets water on some vast
hidden sea of mist where I seek to find
everything I have forgotten, which
will bring a tranquility to my soul.
The only thing that changes
is my undying love I hold for you.
Meaning, tidal, meaning what breaks
with the gravitational pull of the moon
is the same as within us. Water,
and sweet warm air cleanses that which I know
this is really all we have, this now.
The rivers gurgle with your soft approach