“A professor told me not to use that letter / as the subject of a poem. // I don’t remember her name.” This complete poem, entitled “I,” is a snide argument for the insistent confessionalism that goes on in much of Poetic Scientifica, a confessionalism that is unwavering and brimming with warped comedy. Out this year from University of Hell Press, Leah Noble Davidson’s first book is a bold declaration on the capacities of humor and raw storytelling as means for emotional resilience.
Posts tagged Poetry
from Dear Anna by Jon-Michael Frank
Anna, I like that picture you sent me of a wooden chair spotted with pink petals in a misty and abandoned parking lot. I wonder if this is how the healing begins. Sitting in a…
Blasphemy is Easy in Love
Her brothers passed me at the dinner table like salt. Her sisters took me out of each other’s arms with fingers spread to protect my neck. Aunt Margie and Grammie Lorraine prayed three rosaries for…
Blackberries
We could not have been much, two junkyard kids picking blackberries down by the log pond until our thumbs and tongues stung black with love and the footfalls of hunters down by the water made…
Marcus by Katie McGinnis
Marcus was a poet. A man pumped so full of lithium that his arms had swollen into sausages. So fat that I could hardly find his eyes. According to him, to his eyes, the world…