December 5-11, 2022: Poetry from Tom Pennacchini and Natalie Cortez-Klossner

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Tom Pennacchini

Tom Pennacchini is a flaneur living in NYC. He has had stuff published at The Free Poet, Mojave Heart Review, Jalmurra, The Scarlet Leaf, Poems for All, Free Lit Magazine, Backchannels, Loud Coffee Press, Mason Street Journal, Portsmouth Poetry, the Fictional Cafe and KGB Lit Journal.

The following work is Copyright © 2022, and owned by Tom Pennacchini and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Winged Ones

Bustling old fella dashing biddly bop by dressed to the nines
with briefcase stuffed under his arm equipped with fixed maniacal grin jabbering to himself while confirming his expressions
to an equally jazzed and jaunty westie he calls Ralph trailing exuberantly behind
let’s me know
that there are actually still some living beings out there
to learn from

Natalie Cortez-Klossner

Natalie Cortez-Klossner is a poet and writer. She was born in Lima, Peru and grew up mostly in the D.C. suburbs, but is currently living in Chicago where she’s a PhD student in Comparative Literature at the University of Chicago.

The following work is Copyright © 2022, and owned by Natalie Cortez-Klossner and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Américan

When the foot marks
left on snow
no longer fear the sun

I’ll translate the air of the americas
store it in a mini glass bottle
& chain it to my necklace

When the Redwoods
out west
no longer fear lightning

I’ll shape-shift into the sparrow
an invasive species with the
hunger to roam as the others once did

When the sand castles
built on the beach
no longer fear incoming waves

I’ll draw in English, accepting
I’m already at sea for it’s not the
sign of the perpetrator or victim within

When the names
traced on the bark
no longer fear the ax

I’ll witness my fence crying
as I celebrate the changes
of soil & winds

When the stream
on the edge of the mound
no longer fears the landslide

I’ll wash away man-made lines
by cultural erosion, lines
that aren’t mine, aren’t yours & will never be

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