January 22-28, 2018: Poetry from Kelly Cowan and Sandra Kolankiewicz

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Kelly Cowan and Sandra Kolankiewicz

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Kelly Cowan
unknownname@earthlink.net

Bio (auto)

Kelly Cowan lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico but is a child of New England. She is a photographic-based visual artist. She earned a B.A. in English Literature from Washington University in St. Louis. She started writing poetry in 2010 when she took a class with the poet and film maker Marc Olmsted. Visit Kelly on the web here.

The following work is Copyright © 2018, and owned by Kelly Cowan. and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

 

Central Maine Social Security

waiting
room
“I got up at 6 to get here”
“well, I was up at 5” the stranger
next to her bellows, her
husband breathes
through his mouth & nods
grumbles
linger
in the air
still waiting,
I flip
through Robert Frost’s poems –
picked it up at the library
basement sale – 50 cents
North of Boston –
are these
his vivid
New England
voices?

 

North Light Encounter

moving
silently
in cool
morning
air
at first light –
hands clutched
holding tight
against
her naked body –
a sheet
sweeping across
the forest floor –
fleeing the
outhouse

 

Cease & Desist

Dream: receive
a cease & desist
letter –
registered mail
from law firm –
Goddess, Dante, Lucifer
a mandatory appt.
I hunt & hunt
for a date
the scent of wild
rose Rugosa –
tucked in my pocket
that morning –
on Great Head Trail –
stirs me awake

 

 

 


Sandra Kolankiewicz
sandra.kolankiewicz@gmail.com

Bio (auto)

Sandra Kolankiewicz’s poems have appeared widely, most recently in London Magazine, Prairie Schooner, Crannog, Per Contra, and New World Writing. She is the author of the poetry collections Lost in Transition, The Way You Will Go, and Turning Inside Out. She lives in Marietta, Ohio, with her family and teaches developmental writing. Visit Sandra on the web here.

The following work is Copyright © 2018, and owned by Sandra Kolankiewicz and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

 

When You Are Naming the World

Soon travel became a source of pain
rather than escape.  I needed to
stay wherever I went, found myself
picking out a house, imagining
the schools, fantasizing a story
of what I’d do all day, ‘forever’
the destination, the same sense of
longing everywhere, no matter the
altitude, coordinates, or the
language, coveting the sweetest spots
of habitation no matter where
I was, which is the antithesis
of travel, the carrying with me
of the notions I want behind, like
a middle class check list I cannot
help but use for packing, even when
I am bringing nothing, what I mean
more about control than vacations,
hotels being temporary, not
enough silverware in a rented
condo, all the knives on the edge of
useless, the artwork unnoticed or
it would already have disappeared
into a suitcase, tucked there with a
sense of possession after having
paid, which happens when you are naming
the world with a home to return to.

 

 

 




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