January 22-28, 2024: Poetry from Marie C Lecrivain and Rose Mary Boehm

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Marie C Lecrivain

Marie C Lecrivain is a poet, publisher, and curator of two literary blogs: Dashboard Horus: A Bird’s Eye of the Universe, and Al-Khemia Poetica: A Women’s Art and Literary Journal. Her work has been published in bottle rocketsCalifornia Quarterly, Chiron Review, Gargoyle, Nonbinary Review, Orbis, Pirene’s Fountain, and many other journals. She’s the author of several books of poetry and fiction, and editor of Ashes to Stardust: A David Bowie Tribute Anthology (2023 Sybaritic Press, www.sybpress.com).

The following work is Copyright © 2024, and owned by Marie C Lecrivain and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

What’s Your Sign?

When someone asks me
“What’s your sign?”
I want to be flippant
and say Slippery When Wet.

But that’s not me,
and I don’t want
to answer in pictograms,
or heart-shaped hands.

But if you insist,
I’ll tell you, one night,
most likely in December,
when L.A. skies are clear,
and it’s quiet, and cold.
I’ll set up my telescope,
point it at the Crab Nebula
and say, “Here you go,”
and wait for you
to either stare into
the history of
a billion years,
or swing the telescope
across the cosmos
to find yourself out there.

Rose Mary Boehm

Rose Mary Boehm is a German-born British national living and writing in Lima, Peru, and author of two novels as well as eight poetry collections. Her poetry has been published widely in mostly US poetry reviews (online and print). She was three times nominated for a ‘Pushcart’ and once for ‘Best of Net’. DO OCEANS HAVE UNDERWATER BORDERS? (Kelsay Books July 2022), WHISTLING IN THE DARK (Cyberwit July 2022), and SAUDADE (December 2022) are available on Amazon. Also available on Amazon is a new collection, LIFE STUFF, published by Kelsay Books November 2023. https://www.rose-mary-boehm-poet.com/

The following work is Copyright © 2024, and owned by Rose Mary Boehm and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

A Memory

The way my father stood
by the evening sun-lit window, a golden halo
playing around his hair
and how he would look
so quietly out of the window, blinking
into those slanted rays of burnt orange.

His thumb in his waistcoat pocket,
his watch chain performing
the perfect shape, just as watch chains
hanging from waistcoat pockets
should. Rather than seeing it then,
I knew that on the left side
of my father’s nose
there was a fleshy mound—not too big.
I would always recognize
my father’s nose.

I couldn’t see that either,
but I knew my father’s hat
hung on the stand-up wardrobe
in the hall, the one with the big mirror
and the large hooks made from a copper alloy,
doubled as not to damage the clothes. I was tracing
the raised flower pattern on the wallpaper.

The evening sun slants across my desk
and makes it difficult to see
the computer screen. My eyes
are wet. The insistent phone calls me.

from the poetry collection LIFE STUFF, Kelsay 2023

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