Photograph by Reka Jellema. Copyright March 2015.
China
behind a lacquer cross-hatch painted roses painted violets--grandmother's careful hands her paper skin China tea things and white linen a dove lands on the clothesline in a whisper she guides my hand I will learn to be a proper girl By Reka Jellema & Jennifer Savage Copyright March 2015  Photograph by Reka Jellema. Copyright March 2015 In those days
that pinch at the edge of my soul a pinned donkey tail a needle and thread, O Michael, O Gabriel spin me another sentence my tongue grows thick with the language if it, our rift, these limits of kith & kin, relation, being human scabby and raw I take the words and sing them to the trees return them to the earth, a nut, a seed, a leaf. By Reka Jellema & Kathryn Ross Copyright March 2015 
Unchained
We will begin with bones with howling with fur and skin and paw, extended and withdrawn. It pains me, this dive, secured, your chains, so collared, so mean. Driving home the radio trained voice warns of war crimes of terror beyond our shores and walking among us - the histories that turn men into dogs A blasphemy to all curs On the couch this dog asks why, his hillock brow over soft, dark eyes with every blink mine know I will sleep, his chin upon my thigh Wondering what, had the god of dogs begun with some other bone, he would make of me, this human unchained at the end of a long day. Written by Reka Jellema & Brendan Bonsack Copyright March 2015  Photograph by Reka Jellema. Copyright March 2015 A Small Thing
A small thing is a memory the day to day smoothed of its splinters A tiny elephant carved from mahogany its wooden grace A tea bag scented with Bergamot or the whorls of a marble A paper clip bent just so, and never moved since the tearing of the pages The low sung gong of a tone coaxed from a singing bowl The smallest thing becomes a song that sings on remembering and rings On, dividing and dividing By Reka Jellema & Brendan Bonsack Copyright March 1, 2015 |
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