May 17-23, 2021: Poetry from Holly Day and Prince A. McNally

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Holly Day

Holly Day (hollylday.blogspot.com) has been a writing instructor at the Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis since 2000. Her poetry has recently appeared in Hubbub, Grain, and Third Wednesday, and her newest books are The Tooth is the Largest Organ in the Human Body (Anaphora Literary Press), Book of Beasts (Weasel Press), Bound in Ice (Shanti Arts), and Music Composition for Dummies (Wiley).

The following work is Copyright © 2021, and owned by Holly Day and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Shut Me Down

random memories scrawl across the knuckles
of a clenched fist pounding its way into my house
drunk. a recitation of past traumas and imagined
slights, the story of my life reduced

to a single scrap of paper.

at twenty, with my newborn son, huddled
in the back of a closet, listening
to the angry breath of the man on the other
side of the door, panting and wheezing as if removed
from a much-needed incubator, wondering

who is this person I’m leaving
how did we get here?
I could barely tell my mother
anything, something
about all the wrong people
who fall into my life.

Prince A. McNally

Prince A. McNally is a widely published poet/ philosopher out Brooklyn N.Y. whose work, although quite eclectic, focuses primarily on the human condition. He is a recipient of a Poets & Writers grant & has received several Best of The Net nominations. He is currently working on his debut collection of poems due to be released sometime in 2021. Visit Prince on the web here.

The following work is Copyright © 2021, and owned by Prince A. McNally and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

After…

Launched…
from the somber cages
of urban rooftops,
homing pigeons – eagerly
chase the morning sunrise,
soaring through the mist
of unfolding skies, racing against
the notion of time… ever fleeting
to places unknown, & unseen,
& yet, they wing- it through this life
in spite of its      
      spontaneous unraveling,  
somehow surviving  the aerial pursuit
of preying  predators, persevering
through the ominous threat
of impending storms, only to return
to a gilded cage / that erases the sky
that frees them / which begs the question: 
Why are homing pigeons so eager
to return to their captors?      
(They’ve obviously been conditioned.)
If you think about it, homing pigeons
are the perfect metaphor for
‘Battered women’; for no matter
what they may go through, they’re often compelled 
to return to their oppressors & or lovers.
Even after all the yelling & fighting.
After all the fear, misery & humiliation. 
    
After all the rage,     
berating  & countless beatings
raining upon their helpless bodies
 from clouds of clinched fists,
& angry feet / that stomp & kick
until they’re rendered
      unconscious.
After all the busted ribs,
     blackened eyes,
  & broken noses. 
After all the random visits
to the emergency room;
due to his insobriety,
due to his insecurity,     
due to his narcissistic
misogyny.
After all the endless pleading
 from friends & family
     to just leave
before he kills you; and yet,
the pain, & fear / swiftly succumbs
to the fluidity of his liquid-like words,   
his glowing charm, his empty promises,
& pseudo apologies like “Baby, I’m so sorry; I never meant to hurt you,
But you made me so angry I couldn’t help myself.
Please come home; & I promise,
I’ll never, ever hurt you again;
you know how much I love you”
& like the miracle of homing pigeons,
flying through the fury of a storm,
these battered women
somehow,
still
return
home.