September 18-24, 2017: Poetry from Robin Crane and Kira Pfost

Robin Crane and Kira Pfost

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Robin Crane
hobonightclub@yahoo.com

Bio (auto)

Robin Crane writes poetry, fiction and personal essays, some of which have been published in Olympia Literary Yarn, Hourglass Magazine, Poetry Motel, Poetry Super Highway, All Things Girl, Ghoti Magazine, Newtopia, 63 Channels, Evergreen Review, The Hairpin, Foliate Oak Literary Magazine and The Scrambler.  She is a native of Los Angeles, where she currently lives. Visit Robin’s blog, Sweetheart Redux here.

The following work is Copyright © 2017, and owned by Robin Crane and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.


South Pasadena

It’s always the same.
Well, more or less.
I always –
Almost always –
Envy the healthy older men –
Clear retirees –
So secure
And the smooth-haired younger
Women exiting their
Well-washed
Volvos etc
Whenever I make my brief sojourn from
The parking lot to the ATM
In the nearby rich neighborhood
That Mom and I always –
Almost always –
Admired through the bus window when I
Was a kid.
I will almost always
Think of her
When I hear Prince on the radio
Because she texted me last year
“Did you know Prince died?  Only 57, how sad.”
And then she died the next month.
On the radio I’ll hear the song about his wary
Admiration of a loose woman or the one where
He just wants to party his sadness away
And I’ll think of how surprising and sweet it was that
Mom cared about his death – she of the Beatles
And Vivaldi.
I’ll always eat candy when it’s around during children’s holidays
And then see my
Chipped yellow teeth in the mirror and
Decide that I’m sort of disgusting
But also sort of appealing
In a furtive burrowing animal sort of way.
But still,
I’ll practically always envy those strangers
With nice white teeth,
Other people who look less lonely and
Richer than me,
By far,
Women with unscathed and milkily lovely
Chests and capable-looking men
Who walk around with
Their easy hands stuffed easily
In the pockets of their shorts
So smug, like “Who, me? 
I’m just enjoying the day.”

 

 



Kira Pfost
kiraap@vt.edu

Bio (auto)

Kira Pfost is a student at Virginia Tech in Blacksburg, VA. She studies English and Russian, and in her free time she loves to write stories and poems, paint, hike, and jam out in her PJ’s. Visit Kira on Instagram here.

The following work is Copyright © 2017, and owned by Kira Pfost and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

untitled

You teach me to relax
And ill teach you to let life rattle you
to the core til your wide eyes glisten and bones
expand so fast the walls of your skin have
no choice but to shatter
Launching slivers of the smallest pieces of
you in every direction,
A collection of fragmented rainbow
exploding upon itself.
This change will prove catastrophic when I
fail to collapse into myself at the tilt of lips
Catastrophic when ghosts dance along the
road and lunge at you as you plunder
through the fog,
Faces so clear and twisted you wake up six hours later
Suffocating in the cloth meant to keep you
Safe,
Gasping for relief from lack of oxygen and
Oversupply of life.
Someday when I no longer hear your voice
While I sleep
I’ll wipe away handprints staining windows
From the outside and think only of
Purification
Rather than yearning.
When this day comes,
You’ll walk down the beach with your toes
Submerged so you can’t imagine the water
Replacing your footprints and
The imprint of your impending fatality that drips
Desperation into even the grayest corners of
Your life.