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Amy Bagwell and Robert Martin Evans :: Six poems


Plonger en apnée

               dive


without


an aqualung
among


the thin                        branches
                       closer

 to a delicate

             state                            more

  temporary                      than

snow
                fall                         


           ,

  the first time        I came
   out of you


 I felt

I’d left too

                                                                           
  much behind 


                                                a concrete

                             block 
                      

                                                   in the current




                                                              running
little sticks                               past



To Not Get Carried Away


Look closer
the seahorse’s tail
is not magical, not whimsical,
and never propels—

It is a desperate tether,

and seahorses strain
against nature, screaming
inside their heads,
all their lives.


All Night Breakfast Wine

She takes my hand
closes the fingers
kisses each knuckle

I watch her close
try to learn something

She holds up the fist
lets it drop hard
on the table

I help it bang

This is how we are
with each other



Your Wounds and I

Sometimes, I want you
in pieces. I want to swallow your voice.
I want to pocket your fractured eyes, take molds
of your broad hands and cast hundreds
in beeswax. I will warm them into
nothing when you’re gone.

How soft my hands become.

Always, like Carver’s rain,
I want to be not forgotten. While you sleep,
I’ll finger honey into your cuts without altering
even your breathing. When you finish
dreaming of my hands, your
wounds and I are gone.



My Hennessy Has a Half-life

Here’s how:
every glass I
pour I use
half of what
I had last

time—this golden
curved ceiling
your arms reach
folding into me



coda

june. my
fig tree’s covered
in fists for you, love, hard
for now, soon scarlet
on the inside.






All Night Breakfast Wine is a collaboration by Amy Bagwell and Robert Martin Evans. Half Amy’s work, half Bobby’s, it tells two dooomed love stories that, through the collaboration, became one. They didn’t set out to write it together, but as they exchanged work, the throughline leapt out, and the poems written since have sewn themselves into one another.

Amy Bagwell’s poems are/ will soon be in The Eyewear Review, Terminus Magazine, Vallum: Contemporary Poetry, Dusie Tuesday poems, and Figdust, along with the anthologies Topograph and Boomtown. She makes text art and co-directs Wall Poems, Inc., a mural project, and Goodyear Arts, an arts residency program. She received an MFA from Queens University of Charlotte and teaches Literature at Central Piedmont Community College.

Robert Martin Evans is a freelance translator and editor. His poetry has appeared in Vallum, Topograph, Oratorealis and Where is the river, and as one of the Wall Poems of Charlotte. In 2012, he was longlisted for the CBC Poetry Prize. He is a member of the selection committee at bywords.ca.



 

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submissions :: where is the river

Up to six poems in a single .doc file with author biography and photo to kieferjdlogan@gmail.com

All rights revert to the author/s upon publication.

Elidio La Torre Lagares :: Six poems

walking in Rome
male cicadas foretell the sun
the distance of rain as we walk
through Rome on the 25th of July:
the history of Empire

i touch the breath of fireinside
my mouth birds peck at
dormant words under my steps

roads lead into alibis for an idea of time
when tutte strada vanno a Roma

lady Cicadas, on the other hand, treasure
silence around the marbled stories
of Villa Burghese

Sophie walks beside me painting
the air longing dreams
the world conforms a canvasher voice
a ripe fruit that floats
on the Roman landscape

from the hills of Villa Medici the city
spreads like the wings of an eagle of light
constantly diffusing emergingsomehow
the impending clearance of dependences
melts with the gradation of memories the precise
clockwork of stages

with loss and life to gain

clouds travel homeless



colosseum

The Roman Colosseum-
round as a certainty
or the eye of a hurricane-
was once one of the
seventh wonders
of the world. But, little
is known of it compared
to the years it has outlasted
time and earth…

about :: where is the river

where is the river :: a poetry experiment is a bi-monthly poetry journal open to a variety of aesthetics, forms and experiences, with a preference towards showcasing work by emerging writers. There is no single path, nor any single way. Founded in September 2017. Edited by Kiefer JD Logan.