New Poetry with Audio!
Ariana-Sophia Kartsonis’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in Another Chicago Magazine, Denver Quarterly, Crab Orchard Review, Optic, Third Coast and elsewhere.
a rant against being left behind while you flit through Spain
1. Most caddis larvae surround themselves with a protective case, made from various materials from their surroundings fastened together with a sticky silk-like secretion produced from a gland near the mouth. Each species uses its own particular materials – grains of sand, plant fragments and even empty snail shells – and builds its case to a specific design. It is often possible to identify a species simply from its case. The sand grains or other materials are frequently cemented together very neatly to form a mosaic.
A weather report:
The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plains
Here plain girls in print dresses drink rain
from an unspained distillery
2. Moth-like insects, with two pairs of membranous wings densely covered with tiny hairs and held roof-wise over the body at rest. All are fairly weak flyers and the females of a few species are wingless. Most are dull brownish or greyish insects, flying at dusk.
Flightless girls find ways to flee.
Postcards land in the mailbox I painted cool mint green:
The color of your favorite ice-cream
(The color of your heart it seems).
They say Lovely here, but missing you.
They say Every bright broken thing resounds with you.
Or maybe simply Wish I’d invited you.
A drop of honey to each corner then I press
each postcard to my flesh.
I am a Spanish panorama,
a caddis fly of fifty-cent sentiment.
I am encased.
Spanish fly – See anti-aphrodesiac. See Senorita Abandoned.
Barcelona postcard: If ever a city was your city…color upon color
Where you are the fountains spurt a collage of gawdy puzzles.
Here I am a birdbath of spite.
A decoupage of longing.
A nude puzzle mostly undone.
If I could, I’d ask a passing caddis fly
whether those gorgeous shards ever cut
the bodies they’re meant to armor.
1. I’m here to say it can be a holding place for years
A halfway house for love and worn-out.
A microscopic erosion eros broken down
to its elemental grind
and grinding down.
Root word for desire and distribute.
God of love, a cupid strike which starts that erogation
one arrow-tip bit of flesh at a time.
Arouse to stir
Erose one bite mark
shaped like a bitter moon.
2. Be it Catholic waiting room
or back bend under bamboo pole
held waist-high like a jumprope between two people
3. Someone will say love and then hold you under pressure
underwater for years and years
Saying he wants to make sure you have a drink.
Saying she wants to see you swim.
4. I mean the body is a gothic arch, a wishbone held at that angle
so sharp it has to snap.
5. The broken beak of a living bird
more painful than quick-bitten nails
their raw luna-beds.
6. A ghost rises on the stairs like
a bathtowel moon, apparition of cheap light
hovers there a shiver
& then falls to the unswept floor.
7. I mean, the broken beak of a bird that has to go on.
The snag and the ache and hurts to take in
what you need just to fill you.
And when he shall die, take him out the ballgame
and bat around a little eternity with his wooden leg.
Cut him out in little stars and sew them
on the majorette’s epaulets, let him (just this once)
serve himself up like a galaxy.
He will make the face that says icky
so tell him Heaven-so-fine go fetch me some soap
and he will because he loves when we call him
anything that sounds a little infinite. All the world
loves a sorry knight. He’s a simile
for nothing. Pay no worship
to the garish one. He’s a soluble prince in a lather
of time. He’s the plan
with the built-in roaming fee.
Don’t expect him to come through
the bad weathers. Don’t ask him to
do anything that rhymes with shower or glove.
Accept the things he’s best at doing instead:
salting fields, playing dead