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Two Poems – Jennifer MacBain-Stephens & Meg Tisinger

Jennifer MacBain-Stephens went to NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts and now lives in the DC area. Recent chapbooks are out from Be About it Press, Dancing Girl Press and Shirt Pocket Press. Her first full length collection is forthcoming from Lucky Bastard Press. Recent work can be seen at Jet Fuel Review, Pith, So to Speak, Entropy, Right Hand Pointing, & decomP.

Meg Tisinger went to the University of Iowa and makes a mean kale lasagna. She has a love/hate relationship with horror films and takes photographs. Also, some of her poetry was published in Pretty Owl Poetry.

Dear M,

Dear M,

Like a dying Mercutio she dreamt
a plague on our house and it materialized
in the light bulbs.
The same horror film turns on the
light at 4:30 am.
It is not faulty wiring.
Static wanders through colonial
walls like smoke, explodes
into mail box dandelions
and mint aromas.
I hear her crying
when I am alone in bed.
When I open the door to the hallway,
the crying stops like
yanking a parking break.
Her never land dust brushed off
tortured under a microscope
Sadness locked in a safe.
I expect to hear crying
nightly now so I am a cold hearted
bitch. A stomach growl is
louder than my apathy.
I am envious this
yearning in the gut,
looking for nutrients
to hold.
To hold something delicate,
and then relinquish all bits
and bubble wrap,
absolved of responsibility

Dear J,

Dear J,

Phantoms covet modern conveniences.
Electricity is a wonder.
Pipes; a dream.
If your lights are flickering,
it’s just curiosity.
Outside, rose bushes
Are hacked to thorns,
your ghost will
prefer a fireplace
to central heating.
Apparitions claw dry wall.
I just roll over.
My bone marrow
is full of frost
I feel scattered,
dwelling with crazies.
Who knows best
how to play bad cop/good cop?
It’s the live ones that
fret all day and
eat toaster pastries.
The old ones crow:
eat more,
sleep more,
eat more,
sleep more.
We wake every day
to tourniquets and maimed limbs.
Wear ear plugs.

“Dear M,” + “Dear J,” are both previously published in Fuck Art, Let’s Dance Issue #012.

Filed under: Fuck Art, Let's Dance, Poetry

About the Author

Posted by

Jeremiah Walton is wary of bios, but there's the current sign they're flying: “Jeremiah Walton is founder of Nostrovia! Press & traveling bookstore Books & Shovels. They’ve featured at the NYC Poetry Festival, Oakland Beast Crawl, San Francisco Lit Crawl, Death Rattle, the Kansas City Poetry Throwdown, Cleveland’s Guide to Kulchur: Snoetry, among other lit fests, street corners, & living rooms across the country. They loath-themselves, & are struggling to find a healthy extension of the poem that incorporates publishing. Consistently confused, & trying to make space for compassion for the parts of myself I hate.” That feels like tattooing "love me" across my neck, but hopefully you get to know me thru my poems, not the accolades that are nothing more than memories to let go of.

1 Comment so far

  1. Pingback: Nostrovia’s 2016 Best of the Net Nominations | Nostrovia! Tavern

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