poetry – Page 39 – FEMININE COLLECTIVE

MARGARET

November 15, 2018September 22, 2021 Alexandra Meehan

Within her green garden, our hedged veranda filled with buckets of lilies, sweet herb pockets, a sunburnt chandelier dimming in the breeze— Our garden with hydrangeas, and thistle vines, and azaleas in phantom fuchsias, though if only we could still sew posy wreaths. Rings around Margaret, May forgotten petals to Read more

If I Was Your Child

November 14, 2018November 14, 2018 Jacqueline Cioffa

Would you cover me in a coat of armor So my blood didn’t weep If I was your child Would you shield me from the dark The boogeyman that wiggled my doorknob whilst I sleep If I was your child would you smother me with sweet scented well-meaning kisses If Read more

Previvor

November 11, 2018November 11, 2018 Virginia Petrucci

Where do these women go when they die, these Women who are like me like how I used to be before I became rooted in stinkless rock? “Previvor” is for the catch of an early dusk before it settles, or the trespass of the moon before dark A champion equals Read more

Shulie

November 11, 2018November 11, 2018 Samantha Rose

When I tell you that she is a fireball, I mean to say that she fears not the charring of cultural silks and rods, burning up oxidized visions until her words are carbon-sealed upon the perennial page, her feminine veil forged in smoke. When I tell you that she is Read more

WAR

November 10, 2018September 13, 2019 Elizabeth Regen

I can’t keep Them straight in my head anymore- The shootings. The victims. The gunmen. The guns used. Vegas. The hotel. The windows of the hotel. From the window of the hotel. The concert. The nightclub. They were dancing. They were young. They were shot. Hiding in the bathroom. At Read more

Imagination

October 23, 2018November 26, 2018 Krystal Beatriz Galvis

It was going to happen sooner or later. I couldn’t help it. I let myself imagine he was you. His hand on my hand. His lips on my forehead. His lips on my lips. I would believe that your arms are actually his and that they would wrap around me, Read more

Sunday and Vidalia Onions

October 22, 2018October 22, 2018 Kim Sisto Robinson

Every Sunday, before she prayed, My mother peeled three Vidalia onions For dinner, chopping them into pretty White teeth. I curled beneath her feet At first, rubbing my small fingers over Her beige legs, smooth as an onion. Later, I sat Zen on a plastic chair, bare Thighs sticky against Read more

MOOD

October 19, 2018May 26, 2023 Dori Owen

she fears the dark as it consumes her slowly and then all at once trapping her in its never ending quest to seize her mind and bury her soul. she’s trapped inside just a girl lost in a mood maelstrom waiting to capture back her soul. she knows she understands Read more