The Vizard And now, in a mask, it’s hard to say hello. Hello, mouth I will not kiss with my mouth. Hello, lips I have not bit amidst this ruffled indigo. The blue sets off your eyes, eyes darting south which means you haven’t forgotten how to want in this world. Your half-face is faithful fireworks, ears jutting out as if they hope to disenchant a fever stoking my heart, the viral reminders of all the reasons I want you most. Your gloved hand takes my hand, breathes everything into an overdose of lipless laughter. Don’t ever leave. Whatever happens, I promise not to love you less. Let’s just call this our future instead of life repressed. Editor's Note: The author would like to give credit to Andrea Selch for the first line of this poem.
Gilly Up If one of us has lost trust in a dawn a golden raven will remove your hat revealing a trapeze swung to a yawn and whatever escapes is a cat poised on a keyless piano blinking their third eyelid at the dry iced stage. The audience prepares to pounce singing All I Want from You (is Away) off page. Do you think the wet shadow of my heart is a season, or am I a vanished Zig-Zag girl, an illusion sliced apart? Are we trapped in a play by Mamet? I think knot. Tie me up. Teach me to rust. No one can cure me of this wanderlust. Editor's Note: The author would like to give credit to Megan McCormick for the first line of this poem.
Ghostish A ghost of hope arrives by night to speak blue whispers into my hair. I can’t tell what desire will bring without a freak form of forgiveness, a goblet of spells rippling through every room. I miss tongues the forever side of thighs in the back of a sand bitten car, strumming thumbs & a summer so full the heat’s abstract as a music hall of tequila shot- glass showgirls & daylight better not stop saying yes, but even if I forget the way home through the symphony of rock filled fields, I’d still lie about your plastic dagger blurring my body’s elastic. Editor's Note: The author would like to give credit to Scott Combs for the first line of this poem.
Maureen Daniels is New York based poet and educator. Maureen received her MFA from the City University of New York. Their poems have recently been published in Third Wednesday, Rosebud, Yale Palimpsest, and The Magnolia Review. She is currently at work on a PhD in Literature.
Grand Little Things 