September 23-29, 2019: Poetry from Diana Rosen and Emma Janai Olson

Diana Rosen and Emma Janai Olson

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Diana Rosen
dianalrosen@gmail.com

Bio (auto)

Diana Rosen is an essayist, flash fiction writer, and poet whose work has appeared in Poetic Diversity, RATTLE, Tiferet Journal, Dime Show Review and others. Forthcoming work will appear in 2020 in CCAR, “Far Villages” and “Lottery Blues.” Red Bird Chapbooks has accepted her poems and flash fiction to be issued as  “Love & Irony” this year.

The following work is Copyright © 2019, and owned by Diana Rosen and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.


Nectarines! It’s a Helluva Fruit

Juicy-warm from the sun, broiled with goat cheese
and honey, a must to bring my dad just to hear him
laugh, recite again from the Carl Reiner-Mel Brooks’
“2000-Year-Old-Man” records where a velvet-caped
Brooks, reveals he once dated Joan of Arc, was married
hundreds of times, had 42, 000 children and not one
came to visit!! “I don’t care. But they could send a note,
write, “Howya, pop?” True, Dad didn’t date Joan of Arc
but he did date Pearl, his memories kept in a thick album
of Kodak black and whites with their curvy edges slotted
into those triangled corner holders pasted on the grey
scrapbook pages with “Me and Pearl” captioned underneath.
Or, “Pearl and Me.” Or, my favorite, “Guess Who?”
That Mom had no compunctions about this totem
of his life before us said a lot about their marriage
til death did them part. My stepmother helped Dad
buy a new suit and tie to meet Pearl and her husband
for lunch following her surprise call. You know what
happened. Civil conversation. A longer ride home than
to the restaurant. The album remained on the bookshelf.
Dad didn’t even reach a century much less two millennia
yet to the end, smiled to see another fuzz-less peach,
that sweet nectar of summer, a nectarine, its tight smooth
skin not unlike Dad’s, with that signature blush of red.
I miss our calls. “Is this the writer, or the other one?”
he’d asked, to which I’d say, “Howya, Pop.”
“What’s the secret to your long life?” Reiner asks.
“Nectarines,” Brooks replies. “I love that fruit.
It’s a helluva fruit.”

 

 


Emma Janai Olson
emma_janai@yahoo.com

Bio (auto)

Emma Janai Olsonis a literature lover from Huntington Beach, California, a non-literary town. She is the author of the book "The Glass Mannequin: The Poetry of Emma Janai Olson."

The following work is Copyright © 2019, and owned by Emma Olson and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.


The End

Dust on scales quake, tumble down
You’re too good, Heaven couldn’t bear it.
Where the light finds the dark,
Where a pebble breaks the skin

You’re too good, like a single drop
A sentence short
An orchard, an incense tree
A honeycomb that breathes
In a column of smoke

You pick up the dirt
And are trampled by the rest
You’re too good, Heaven couldn’t bear it.

Mercy bites out of the snare
Your eyes escape like broken doves.


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