December 3-23, 2001: Elna Törnblad and Kimberly Townsend Palmer

Bio (auto)

English Literature student attending Edinburgh University (UK) Home however is Malmö, Sweden Writes poetry in Swedish, English and French, and has been published in various Swedish literary magazines and anthologies (is currently working on a contract for her first full-length poetry collection in Swedish)
Visit her website: http://www.skymnings.com/egj/

The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Elna Törnblad and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.

Excerpts from a poetry diary or How to burn October 9 : malignant working days and nights: dysfunctional you rustle in the wind and shiver with your morning coffee part of you is reaching out towards infinity part of you is leaning towards the abidable (your love is a tearyeyed scarecrow) there is no craving not carved in your twisting sinews there is no longing not prolonged by your fear of wishing there is no misery not mislead by your wavering smile there is just an apple in your hand and Andromeda in the palm of your eye . October 13 : children of Estonia (a North Sea lullaby) reborn yet shuddering in remembrance reborn yet never complete something missing, gone since long in your tissues there’s a song of the child who can never grow old and the mother who never told of aeroplanes and birds and wings, of forest mushrooms and silver things Tide to the bone: tied time to go home time to slumber lulled by waves for your berth became your grave October 14 : quiet ecstasies First the trickling sound of a Chopin mazurka fending its way towards me: suddenly engulfing me making my nipples stiff Then the drizzling water of the shower leaping across my skin teasing within As I walk down the path for dinner I see the rainy mist, so wet, so soft, so clinging ecstatically embracing Arthur’s seat – and I remember what it feels like to encompass . October 21 heavy have you lain in me all day I feel the weight of your genitals as you press yourself further though limp with satisfaction just as a reminder How cunningly you have let the mist form around me touching me as soft and penetrating as you would as you do I feel my areola: damp and heavy and frozen with your kiss still lingering heavy have you lain in me, my dear this day and all the days proceeding it until you are here again October 22 Sometimes my hands all the way up to my throat and back again October 23 : along Move along my long long arm leave a moist kiss on my shoulder to warm me through the night so cold is she that embrace me her shadows teasingly so cold I need you long and comforting I need your warmth inside Form your body along mine and hold me through the night through that long night October 27 Today I’m brittle; frail Thread gently with your banging absence Hold me in your empty arms and comfort me a while November 1 : [<<] or [>>], just not [x] sickle sick cut to the bone a laugh of a hundred pins’ sharpness mindmelted boggle oggle goggle down your drink and let me sink Being just another glitter girl searching for a way to go [<<] November 7 Hidden little pleasures When I wake up my hand in my crotch and the dream persistently fading (but the feeling remains) November 13 : How to burn It’s a beautiful autumn’s day I fall over myself: the still I am frantic for your kisses and just one more one more touch I walk away just for the pleasure of seeing you again, your face lighting up the leaves multicoloured over your head Nothing remains but oh everything is always present You teach me how to burn.

Kimberly Townsend Palmer
KimberlyTP@aol.com

Bio (auto)

I was born in Los Angeles in 1960, of Bohemian, English, French, German and Italian ancestry, and grew up in Fort Lauderdale, Florida  I received a BS in Psychology in 1982 and a JD in 1985 from the University of Florida  I live in Gainesville, Florida, with my husband and two daughters  My poetry and short fiction has appeared or will soon appear in The Adirondack Review, The Blue Fifth Review, Cenotaph, The Charlotte Poetry Review, CrossConnect, Earth’s Daughters, Eclectica, Exquisite Corpse, Images InScript, New Laurel Review, The Panhandler, The Paumanok Review, Poetry.St Corner, Red River Review, Snake Nation Review, Snakeskin, Stark Raving Sanity, Stirring: A Literary Collection and Xavier Review  I received an honorable mention in the North Carolina Writers’ Network Thomas Wolfe Fiction Contest, judged by Barbara Kingsolver

The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Kimberly Townsend Palmer and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.

Belladonna (Atropa belladonna) Italians have known since the beginning how I can make a woman beautiful — it’s all in the eyes, they must be receptive, or impenetrable, they must soothe, or provoke, they must be wide with innocence, or with knowledge  People feel like nothing unless observed seriously, by a woman with eyes like black stars; everyone knows the way children call Watch me, lady, See what I can do!   That is why those seeking beauty dilate their pupils with my sap   I was also named for Atropos, the Fate who severs the thread of life   I sever men’s hearts, I am that beautiful lady, I am atropine — I am stinging red juice used for the dilating effect   When I so desire, I flower singly or in pairs, nodding, my corolla blue-purple or dull red, according to my mood, or the soil I twine my pale roots in  So who do you think you are, holding back a polite cough?  Deep down, you know you fell the second I looked at you, seeing right through your clothes to the naked body you hold so dear. Dandelion  (Taraxacum officinale) All the chances they had to weed us thin, but they didn’t   With our long taproots, we got thicker & thicker in our own memories, until there was no course left but to join up, together like braided time  We are a field of flat yellow bursts  Say it will last at least a day  First, unrelenting brightness — I see my soul’s shadow in your eyes, and then a dim religious glow when you close up  Say it’s not for good  I float in my own heart, I am a seed, twirling, and I don’t care how it came about, I just want to look at the sun until I go blind only give us this ecstatic hour  Tomorrow I will be white-haired, ready for the wind to take me to pieces  Or just forget the gossip, spend your nights with me, under my hands — dead and alive you burst when I go down for the count on bloody knees  Eat our leaves in salad, drink our flowers for wine, sometimes we are cultivated but mostly we’re just persistent just like love, nothing can uproot us  We blow our seeds to the wind  People don’t like us, but children think we’re beautiful  Civilization without wildness undermines dreams of children, same as for their parents  Children grow up, but we keep their souls with us, forever. Impatiens  (Impatiens sultana) When I reminisce about how short a time you kissed me, I get crotchety as all hell I get sick of waiting for you to come back   The beginning of the growing season is when I’m freshest, when I’m most logical, and can make decisions with a snap   What it boils down to is this:  I’m faithful to no hunter, so you’d better try harder to understand where the Art of being beautiful comes from, this is so clear if you’re pink and purple and white like me — the sun goes down and I’ve been dying without you for an hour when suddenly you exist all over again in the darkness  The sullen Fall is when I freeze to the ground, when I give up everything but my roots  Intellect always fails me, all that is left is the desire to be blooming again.