April 13-19, 2020: Poetry from Shannon Cuthbert and Sarah Herrin

Shannon Cuthbert and Sarah Herrin

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Shannon Cuthbert
shannonkcuthbert@gmail.com

Bio (auto)

Shannon Cuthbert is a Brooklyn based writer and visual artist. Her poems have appeared in Gingerbread House, Enchanted Conversation, Voices, The Mystic Blue Review, and Three Drops from a Cauldron, among others.

The following work is Copyright © 2020, and owned by Shannon Cuthbert and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

 

Star-Crossed

A poem for the quiet ones,
Head in a star,
Feet in a pool that mirrors the sky,
That holds a small slice
Of infinity there.
Forever buried
In a black sand beach
Or a book
With a tale that never ends.
Here where the edge
Of earth with its roots
Splay free,
Hair and sprawled-out limbs
Entwine.
Here I’ll meet you,
Wrap you up warm
With my body
That has held
The whole earth in its cells,
With my voice that has
Splintered
This vast, moving universe.

 

 


Sarah Herrin
sarah.herrin.sh@gmail.com

Bio (auto)

Sarah Herrin is a bisexual poet based in Seattle, Washington.  Raised in the Deep South, she escaped to the Pacific Northwest in 2012.  She achieved a BFA at the Savannah College of Art and Design, where she studied Sequential Art and Creative Writing.  She is a runner, gemologist, and Bowie-lover Sarah is the author of The Oceanography of Her (Papeachu Press, 2019) and One Thousand Questions (And No Good Answers) (Self Published, 2018).  Her work has been published in anthologies by Augie’s Bookshelf, A. B. Baird Publishing, Papeachu Press, Sunday Mornings At The River, and East French Press. Visit Sarah on the web here.

The following work is Copyright © 2020, and owned by Sarah Herrin and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

 

Possession

I say your name
Like a summoning
You come to me
Like a calling

Is this a haunting
Or a wanting

Possession :
‘The state of
Having, owning or
Controlling something’

Is neither you
Nor me

If we make it to
October
I’ll send pieces
Of my mouth to you

What will you
Bring me?