Poetry Corner: Part One

Ways of Saying Goodbye

At the kitchen window, washing the dishes from the meal you spent five hours preparing. Airborne. With a carving on a tree. Or a sign in the bedroom – ‘No lifeguard on duty.’ With your hand around his waist. Mingling with the roses in your front garden. Standing perfectly still on the front step. Shrinking. Blouse half unbuttoned and standing upside down. With a total absence of thought. Juggling. A kiss. Convincing him to stay with a drop of honey on your tongue. Rolling around in the front path gravel. Sitting down to a meal of leftovers. Tossing a chair. With grace. With a lack of grace. Even more airborne. So high you never will come down. Dancing on the stovetop. Or the backyard trampoline. Flipping the finger. Expanding and contracting. Turning up the radio. Lingering while there is still a possibility. Running faucets. Brief but all-encompassing. Hurling stones. Or just like every other time, whispering the word ‘Goodbye.’

Poetry Corner 1

Ways of Saying Goodbye

At the kitchen window, washing the dishes from the meal you spent five hours preparing. Airborne. With a carving on a tree. Or a sign in the bedroom – ‘No lifeguard on duty.’ With your hand around his waist. Mingling with the roses in your front garden. Standing perfectly still on the front step. Shrinking. Blouse half unbuttoned and standing upside down. With a total absence of thought. Juggling. A kiss. Convincing him to stay with a drop of honey on your tongue. Rolling around in the front path gravel. Sitting down to a meal of leftovers. Tossing a chair. With grace. With a lack of grace. Even more airborne. So high you never will come down. Dancing on the stovetop. Or the backyard trampoline. Flipping the finger. Expanding and contracting. Turning up the radio. Lingering while there is still a possibility. Running faucets. Brief but all-encompassing. Hurling stones. Or just like every other time, whispering the word ‘Goodbye.’

By John Grey. John Grey is an Australian poet and a US resident, who was recently published in Orbis, The Dalhousie Review, and 3rd Wednesday. His latest books, Leaves On Pages and Memory Outside The Head are available through Amazon.

Pride

Go out there and stand your ground Raise your flag up high Paint the colours of every sound From today you will only fly.

Your dancing feet must call the crowd Your laughter gives them wings Today no secret is said too loud And the old crone finally sings. Because here our dreams have lead to Our struggles now have gone Celebrations long are overdue The battle has been won. We will carry on this dance When these festivities are done Until you too may have your chance And we all can be as one.

By Abdulmugheeth Peterson. Abdulmugheeth is passionate about literature, culture and social justice. He teaches high school English, is Head of Academic Studies at a private boys’ school, and Chairperson of The Al-Ghurbaah Foundation – a faith-based LGBTQ+ organisation. Much of Abdulmugheeth’s writing reflects his experiences as a young Muslim gay man and he aims mainly to capture the voices of the marginalised. He enjoys hiking and running, and consuming movies, books and too many cat videos with his partner. They live in Johannesburg, South Africa.

One Wrong

In line to see our novice mistress for our Civics Test results, we don’t talk to each other since it is not one of our designated recreation times after lunch or dinner. Sister James Marie, in front of me, blows her nose in her white handkerchief then pushes the hanky up her sleeve as we do, since we don’t have habit pockets or carry a purse. (Sister is probably getting a cold from her stressful studying to keep her place on the Dean’s List.) When it’s her turn to see Sister Josephus, Sister James Marie rushes into the office through the open door. I can hear her gasping in disbelief, B, I got a B on the Civics Exam! I hear comforting tones from Sister Josephus like a nurse explaining a need for an operation and she even puts a hand on Sister James Marie’s shoulder, the way our mothers did in the real world. When it’s my turn, I strut into the room smiling like I’d been complimented on my daily work of cleaning Corridor L’s blue bathroom tile. Sister Josephus smiles, too, both of us so proud that I got a B on the exam. Years later, after I’d left the convent and married, my erudite husband takes his U.S. Citizenship Test. He answers all of the one hundred questions correctly as we’d both expect: What is the supreme law of the land? Who is one of your State’s senators now? In what month do we vote for the president? He misses the individual question, however: What colour are the stars on the U.S. flag? One wrong.

By Jan Ball. Jan has had 333 poems published in international journals, as well as in the U.S. Her three chapbooks and one full length poetry collection, I Wanted to Dance With My Father, have been published by Finishing Line Press and are available on Amazon. Orbis, England, nominated her for the Pushcart in 2020. Jan was a nun for seven years then lived in Australia for fourteen years with her Aussie husband and two children. She completed a dissertation at the University of Rochester: Age and Natural Order in Second Language Acquisition then taught ESL at RIT, and Loyola and DePaul Universities back in Chicago.