Pour Vida
Autumn 2019 (7.1)
“Autumn Verse #1” by Danny De Maio .................................................. 3 “Frankfort Avenue” by Laura Eigelbach ............................................. 3-4 “THE MOON AT EAST LAKE (After Li Shangyin)” and “NOVEMBER NIGHT (After Liu Yong)” by George Freek .................... 5 Photo by T.S. Servin .................................................................................. 6 “Autumn Verse #2” by Danny De Maio .................................................. 7 “Fool Moon” and Photo by Erick Hendrickson ................................... 7-8 “Delirium” and “High” by Elise Kelly ................................................ 9-10 “Autumn Verse #3” by Danny De Maio ................................................ 11 Cover photo by Cascabel Tombs To be considered for upcoming issues of Pour Vida lit zine, please send submissions of writing, artwork, and photography to pourvidazine@gmail.com
2
“Autumn Verse #1” by Danny De Maio Bow before the cobweb moon on the rise Wax and wane As it collects the dust of our untethered selves An altar in the sky Holding together the tapestry of our past lives Evoke the hum of repressed nocturnes The melodies of our newer ghosts Trapped in the cul-de-sac of memory Darting between the reaching hands of halogen lamps Perched in the branches of a family tree Cloaked in shadows of a residential street Until the moment that we wander too close And feel the grasp of grim nostalgia Pull us into the fracture between dusk and dawn Dwelling amongst the silk-spinning architects Thriving despite the dark side of memory Rising and falling Waxing and waning Just as the cobweb moon should
“Frankfort Avenue” by Laura Eigelbach How can I walk on sidewalks? Sidewalks are where men are. Better to hold a man at twelve arms’ length. Yes, all men. Every one. This isn't my first rodeo: all the bulls have horns. Are you a good man? Or are you a “kill me when I say no” man? Let's give the Good Ones badges so they have something to cover our mouths with when we come for their friends. I feel powerful with a baseball cap and no makeup on. “Fuck you dude” is the wave I'm riding. How many showers to wash every man right out of my hair. Try to exit my body whenever I’m watched by a man.
3
My fingers twitching for any protection pistol bat rock bottle shit nothing. I’d smile, but when I do you leer. I’d say, “Excuse me,” but “damn girl” is poison and it's on your lips I’d throw some of my light on you but I’ve learned from my I feel powerful in men’s plaid and converse, a wolf in But I Love Women's clothing. I stole his clothes for disguise After WHAT HAPPENED Drip drip the biggest drop in this body that’s supposedly mine. I imagine standing on his neck until he says, “Wait” in the same voice I did. And I play the role of him and don’t.
4
“THE MOON AT EAST LAKE (After Li Shangyin)” by George Freek Tonight, it’s a sickle moon. Do we share that, though you’re far away? Sleepless, I turn out the light, but unable to rest on this cold night, I walk in my garden. But I can’t hold the moon’s volatile beams in my hands, and on this forebidding night, my pajama bottoms are growing wet with dew. I return to my room to think of our reunion. But I must wonder, as clouds smother the moon, is it the same with you?
“NOVEMBER NIGHT (After Liu Yong)” by George Freek Leaves fall from the trees. Nasty weather is coming. The sky is a white blanket. I walk the lake’s edge. The dead leaves are rank. The sun has gone to sleep. The stars are hiding. The lake is black and deep. Across the lake, I watch a boat, barely afloat, battling the heaving waves. The boatmen struggle like bats lost in a unfamiliar cave. They’re miles from shore. Will a God hear my prayer? I can do nothing more.
5
6
“Autumn Verse #2” by Danny De Maio Bring it out into the light The fruiting bodies of our better selves A hometown orchard cloistering our old pelts We’re the bats of this town Loitering, nocturnal, just hanging around Clutching the curbs, awnings, and moon Bellow a harvest song to the loons Backstories rich in other people’s histories Cut a line down Main Street (any street) Trace the lines of our arteries Sleep in the branches of the grove A sick citrus will call And be sweetened by the wafting notes Of Friday night mariachi Eerie and pleasant as ancient nocturnes
“Fool Moon” by Erick Hendrickson Full moon, more like fool moonshimmer in silent nightduck away from all sight. I hum a tune, more like a dance and swoon. Late at night with lullaby bye byeLooking at celestials eye to eye. No galaxy to hold me back. No galaxy to hold me. No galaxy to hold. No galaxy to. No galaxy. No. Tendrils of regret linger in mind, chill of unfettered will crawls spine, Cold of night shudders soul fine. Now to you compose final line.
7
8
“Delirium” by Elise Kelly The children barked first but now the lady from the park bench finds that the vendors and vagrants and even the dogs are telling her what to do If only she could hear them past the bees in her ears The ice on her hands won’t melt It only gets colder and her palms go numb Frostbite gnaws at her fingernails blue fingertips in the middle of summer She arises from the bench and looks to a bird’s nest The birds tell her she is afraid but they are wrong In protest she tries to trap them for the birdcage that hangs over her bathroom mirror but the birds fly into the ground before she can raise an icicle finger So now she holds her icy hands over a paint-sink waiting for them to fall off At a glance in the mirror she sees the boy in the bathtub who can’t get out She reaches to help him but discovers her limbs already fell out in the medicine cupboard and bathtub-boy drowns in dirty water claws clinging to a satin shower curtain lungs gripping for air but only grabbing blood
9
“High” by Elise Kelly 1. Condensation: Massacred Cu t the su n with a cloud and call me a killer. 2. Crusade: In Spacetime Ask the stars to Bring you new wea pons and maybe they’ll dr op you a mis sile. 3. Celestial: Rouge When the moon smiles coolly, the sun’s cheeks flush red hot. Blush for me because I too can be your moon.
10
“Autumn Verse #3” by Danny De Maio An invisible land of crisp breeze and dead leaves Who knows where they come from These streets have no trees And summer never leaves Somewhere out there, wedged between a football field and a ravine Is the only house that didn’t burn down in the fire of ‘03 The smoke was weird and leaned slanted against the sky The billows were like whispers The flames like thieves with death suddenly on their minds And cloistered in that house of oak, hunkered down to escape the smoke Was a bloodline in distress Wearing sadness on its face but holding odd hope to its breast And like a black-smoke choir The streets lit up with the song Goodbye to all of that In the great harvest of the October Country Goodbye to all of that...
11
12