Audio Feature: Donna Vorreyer (Shō No. 5)
The last night with my mother, I blinded like a snake in the blue, /
shed the skin of daughter and switched roles
submissions are open
Established in 2002, revived in 2023
The last night with my mother, I blinded like a snake in the blue, /
shed the skin of daughter and switched roles
i am here with you by the premade sushi. / by the out-of-season strawberries. / by the tofu.
we stumble through a forest / of awkward silences, careful not to touch // the brambles.
I can think of a few things more entrenched, / like language, syllables strung together // in a lilt
After all, what way is there to leave / a dance floor other than wet // & shaking under a mass of pleading / legs all huddled into a single moving // sacrifice—swaying tall & drowning / in bass?
The days have been heavy lately, /
an albatross on each shoulder
My mother fell in love with the way you cracked / into an urchin.
I smelled like churned earth, breasts bouldered and leaked / through my support bra into my shirt / for days after his deathbirth.
Mom, since we stopped / speaking, I've been searching / for the first word / you gave me.
My father came to this country / through the womb. My mother, too. // Their mothers and their fathers, too. / But somewhere behind them: a crossing.
Today, my heart is working / remotely. I watch it thump / and thrum reliably behind / the blur of a computer screen.
i’m drinking coffee and reading an essay / by Tarantino breaking down Scorsese’s decision to / cast Harvey Keitel as the pimp in Taxi Driver
The sirens—remembering—often sing to me / of my own deathwish.
how else would i describe it? / somewhere below all of us // i paced the dirt floor of a deep / and airless pit, digging and uncovering // only daylilies tight and green
I’m not good at holding / anything real // the glass the weight these night- / blooming jasmine
I share an arm rest / with a stranger who has desires // too.
There is still good meat / on these bones.
I can tell you about strength. / How the sun warms our skins. / How the moon turns tides.
I think I'm tired of auditioning. / I'm not dancing for bread anymore. / I'm not paying your fee.
I split into two and the wolf split into four and we kept dividing
our greatness until I matched the air and the wolf matched the earth
I sling myself up those stairs / with all the other tired men because //
who am I to refuse the slap / of hunched playing cards
Sometimes I forget I came from the Earth / from the rocks, from the spongy moss // was a home for all the squirming, crawling / slippery life that lived under me.