Kelli Lage is earning her degree in Secondary English Education and works as a substitute teacher. She is a poetry reader for Bracken Magazine. Awards: Special Award for First-time Entrant, 2020, Iowa Poetry Association. Website: www.KelliLage.com.
The following work is Copyright © 2022, and owned by Kelli Lage and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
My lover grabbed my hand
and we decided to run
past spring and autumn,
straight into the belly of winter.
Swearing on mountains;
promising on the flooding of avalanches.
We bury our palms into each other’s wool.
Iced over river whispers drift from frosted lips.
My lover’s warmth sparks a light in my veins.
He drums up fire.
And I call moonstruck icicles, lampposts
and snowflakes caught
in blonde eyelashes, home.
Shorelines chase the center of gold in his irises,
continuing to lap after glory for lifetimes.
I pray my fingertips melt and form into an ocean.
I’ll dive into his banks for all my days.
Let’s make a home with river rocks
and turn the moon into powdered cake.
We can feed the crumbs to the sirens.
Before the seasickness comes,
my palms render into sand.
He grasps the sun’s flames
and uses the heat to kiss my back.
I’d allow my veins to turn to ashes,
If it meant I could stand in his fervor always.
Gary Grossman is Professor of Animal Ecology at the University of Georgia. His poems have appeared in 21 reviews, most recently — Verse-Virtual, Poetry Life and Times, Black Poppy Review, Trouvaille Review and Last Stanza Poetry Review. Hobbies include running, music, fishing, gardening and cooking. Bio and writing at www.garygrossman.net and https://garydavidgrossman.medium.com/ respectively.
The following work is Copyright © 2022, and owned by Gary Grossmanmailto:email@example.com and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Stealing Two Queries From Proust
Run finished and exhalations
Fogging the 43 degree air,
I sat on the island-like green
Park bench, next to the undergrad
With torn leather shoes, who said
“I’m doing a philosophy paper
And I need to know “When do you
Feel justified in lying?”
I replied “such strange words, laying
And lying, frankly, I get them
Confused. One a simple rest
The other falsehood. That’s
The truth. Lying or is it laying
Similar yet different. But you
Are a stranger and I should sleep.
That’s a lie–so the when is now.”
Which reminded me of the time
My son asked “How would you like to
die”? I answered “asleep, laying in
My bed on satin sheets. No lie.”