National Poetry Month : rob mclennan,

 

 

Autobiography

1.

These months              are lost, are lost                        to me.
All bodies are ambiguous. Stupefying. Hidden,

where the light is.

I have forgotten again              how to write. Today is April 8,
and we wake to snow, a power outage, although

neither last. Long enough to cool the house, re-

adjust the microwave, stove                 , our bedroom vista.
This poem                   can be carried              with two hands.

 

2.

Jerrod Carmichael on Late Night

with Seth Meyers                     : speaking of things
that are there, but that

are not there. Expectation        as a creature                 that breathes.

The morning snow      evaporates, each digital display

a pulse                         of displaced numbers. We know
what time it isn’t, by how                     it flickers          , blooms.

 

3.

Phyllis Webb’s ninety-fifth birthday, the first

she’s missed. If thinking                       is modelled on breath, or if
I’ve entirely misunderstood                                          , an arsenal

sans purpose.               Lisa Olstein, paraphrasing Alva Noë: how art

“an essential form
of human research [.]” The limits                    of this field

can still retain                           such colour.

 

 

 

 

Born in Ottawa, Canada’s glorious capital city, rob mclennan currently lives in Ottawa, where he is home full-time with the two wee girls he shares with Christine McNair. His latest poetry title, the book of smaller (University of Calgary Press, 2022), a collection of prose poems, is now available for pre-order, scheduled for release on May 15. He is currently working on crafting the final draft of his suite of pandemic-era essays, essays in the face of uncertainties, composed during the first three months of original lockdown, and scheduled to appear this fall with Mansfield Press.

 

National Poetry Month : Julie Carr,

 

 

Reckless Use (a rough-cut cento with Larry Eigner, Jennifer Bartlett, Edwin Torres, and CA Conrad)

 

I walk, I walk
the flowers seem to nod –                                                                   

I walk                           my one good wing       warily

flutters, the flowers seem to nod. Star me bitter
this night            I spill some sugar, I spill some

salt, my sister’s                           
ill. but she is not my sister     she is my river.

her mouthpiece              tries to find an ear.                                       
I mutter from my throat, cough.

she carries a masculine name – flanked by
birch. sycamore. brick. birth.

we walk

as the lampshade
hoards light, as the stairwell

draws down.

 

 

Julie Carr’s most recent books: Real Life: An Installation and Climate, written collaboratively with Lisa Olstein. Mud, Blood, and Ghosts: Populism, Eugenics, and Spiritualism: 1870-1930, is forthcoming next year.

With Tim Roberts she is the co-founder of Counterpath Press, Counterpath Gallery, and Counterpath Community Garden in Denver.

National Poetry Month : Ryanne Kap,

 

 

when i ask you if i’ve changed

 

i mean, do i seem well-adjusted?
or do you remember the way i cried
on the phone when you closed the door
and i spent four seasons searching
for a window? do you think i think
you’re going to leave again? do you know
i know you won’t? when i touch your cheek
does it feel like i learned how to do this
in your absence? can you feel the way he taught
me to hold someone and not look away?
can you feel how it’s so different
to look at you and no longer care
about seeing anything else? what i really mean
is that i love you open hands open heart
open everything leading back to you
that first night and tonight, and me
telling you that i feel different,
i feel alright, i feel better now.

 

 

 

 

Ryanne Kap is a Chinese-Canadian writer and academic from Strathroy, Ontario. Her work has been featured in Grain, carte blanche, long con, and elsewhere. Her short story “Heat” won first place in Grain’s 2020 Short Grain contest and was selected as a notable pick in the 2021 edition of Best Canadian Short Stories. Her debut chapbook, “goodbye, already,” was published by Frog Hollow Press in 2021. Ryanne studied English and creative writing at UTSC and holds an MA in English from Western University. She is also the managing editor at The Puritan. You can find her online at www.ryannekap.com or on Twitter and Instagram @ryannekap.