October 7-13: Holly Day and Christopher Suda

Holly Day and Christopher Suda

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Holly Day
lalena@bitstream.net

Bio (auto)

Holly Day is a housewife and mother of two living in Minneapolis, Minnesota who teaches needlepoint classes for the Minneapolis school district and writing classes at The Loft Literary Center. Her poetry has recently appeared in Borderlands, Slant, and The Mom Egg, and she is the 2011 recipient of the Sam Ragan Poetry Prize from Barton College. Her most recent published books are "Walking Twin Cities" and "Notenlesen für Dummies Das Pocketbuch."

The following work is Copyright © 2013, and owned by Holly Day and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

The Morning After

falling down
from the sky above
come bodies of
people all asking
the time, but my
sundial has broke
and
is no good to anyone,
not me
or all the
naked girls
piling up.

 


Christopher Suda
cmsuda@uab.edu

Bio (auto)

My poetry has been published in blazeVOX, Dance Macabre, The Aura and Rufous City Review. I am currently a twenty-four year old undergraduate at the University of Alabama at Birmingham. I am a musician when I put the pen away. I am in three music projects: Philos Moore (singer-songwriter) In Snow (Instrumental), and Loveislight (Experimental Hip-Hop) when I am not writing on paper.

The following work is Copyright © 2013, and owned by Christopher Suda and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Facing Point

I took it all down; leaving nothing to be left
removed: the space between
our shins, wrists
even the
gaps between dwell times of
the subway doors (perhaps even loss is lending
Me more time.) Some things are overdue-grown thin she
lipped while letting her cauli-
flowered cheeks
fall atlas
flat against her barreled
knuckles. The hallmark of this trip was stained clear when
my eyes were stapled to a baby boy gumming
his mother’s hair, peering
at all the
foreign such-
and-such with-
out a concern of clarity, without even
a finespun whimper to the palpable god which
held him up. At that point
I felt the
subway doors
sock shut, and recalled when
innocence ran a soundproof film across my eyes.