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New Poetry with Audio!
Donald Revell Criticism
Brian Henry on Kinsella |
Ariana-Sophia Kartsonis’s work has appeared or is forthcoming
in Another Chicago Magazine, Denver Quarterly, Crab Orchard Review, Optic, Third
Coast and elsewhere. Caddis Flies in Two Lessons 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. Limbo1. 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 then lower and lower and lower 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 & terrycloth 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. Sidereal TimeAnd
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 |