EDITOR’S CHOICE AWARD
BY ELIZABETH UPSHUR
RIBCAGE POEM
The blankets are heavy and still
[I]
want nothing more than to stay under them. Nest.
[was]
every hour so twisted and wrung? My father
[told]
us years ago to always be out of the bed by 10 a.m.
[a]
small edict to shape Saturdays. But today, I do not feel like a
[slayer]
of giants or even lions or bears. Certainly not time. Usually, I am quite self
[possessed]
my schedule enacting tidal change upon my landscape.
[great]
Walls of water that carry children, whisk dinners out of the oven.
[strength]
in a pretty Southern drawl
[is]
a learned, environmental response. A kicky response to girlhood,
[this]
Blue Willow plate of living.
[all]
of the traditional meals come with their own side dishes of baggage
[that]
we may either claim or be pelted with. After all,
[you]
can’t expect something for nothing. Kisses leave lipstick stains, red echoes
[are?]
you sure you remember the formula for removing it?
Eros, a piacere
(at the performer’s pleasure)
love like the green in a sunset.
there, but not the most obvious
to the naked eye, or even my overly
spectacled one (-6.5L, -5.5R)
this is how our love experiences us.
quiet, unassuming, unbothered,
un like a stitch taken out
& the sin is whole again. Un
like an unsent message that gave
you an outlet for your initial anger
but ensuing fear at its shared existence
between sender and receiver—
pure elation at the wisdom of technology to render
15 seconds into the past
obsolete, erased & reset
to normalcy.
emotions, color, grey, & find equilibrium
like the constant, sheer soprano song
of thirty-year cicadas.
