Note from the Editors

 

   SEEING RED 

    ENDU(RED) ADMI(RED)
    DESI(RED) WONDE(RED)
    RUMO(RED) ADO(RED)
    ENAMO(RED) INSPI(RED)
    DISCOVE(RED) SAC(RED)
    HUNGE(RED) WONDE(RED)
    EXPLO(RED) FEATU(RED)
    AUTHO(RED) SEA(RED)
    DA(RED) UNCENSO(RED)
    SOA(RED) ADVENTU(RED)

 

 

    


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Reprimand


For those of you who forgot to identify which poem
you are imitating, you are lucky I’m a good reader,
more clever than your parents, largely anxious

and resourceful. I learned about Chagall and that painter
of naked natives from art mugs in a gift shop. Speckled boys,
the bunch of you, as mindful of rules as I am of fabric puff paint.

My girls take fewer risks – the fall, more often and heavily
witnessed. I want to scream at them to take off their scarves
and mark the paper darkly, press down. The room isn’t cold,

their throats not palimpsests. You there, fingering your psychology
textbooks: You say family and I see fruit.

A bowl of ripe cherries to be stabbed at. Let the juice stain.
Still, I can be reckless with compassion; my mother’s gone

traveling and I breathe a wider air. See my spleen relenting and leaking?
Like muddy boots on my one square of rug from Morocco, like a felt
marker on my wood-grained desk.

Michele Battiste's first full-length collection, Ink for an Odd Cartography, was a finalist for the St. Lawrence Book Award and was published in 2009 by Black Lawrence Press. She is also the author of four chapbooks; the most recent is Lineage, forthcoming from Binge Press. She lives in Boulder, where she teaches and studies at the University of Colorado when she is not playing in the creek.

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