I remember the day you broke from me
A blue and viscous blood-soaked pearl
And though I’d grown you in myself
An alien from a secret world
The cord was thick and rough and red
A rhubarb stalk tying me to you
You wailed I cried they held you up
My universe bound by one sinew
Your father sawed the surgeon sliced
Surprisingly it didn’t hurt
I felt the pressure of my love
Shift from my belly to my heart
Andrea Janov is a recent transplant to Pittsburgh who was raised by rock n’ roll parents who knew the importance of concerts and going past the no trespassing signs. She spent her adolescence in a small town punk rock scene where she moshed, fell in love, and produced a few cut and paste fanzines. She […]
Read more "Waiting"Glen Armstrong holds an MFA in English from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst and teaches writing at Oakland University in Rochester, Michigan. He edits a poetry journal called Cruel Garters and has three recent chapbooks: Set List (Bitchin Kitsch,) In Stone and The Most Awkward Silence of All (both Cruel Garters Press.) His work has appeared […]
Read more "Graduation Day"I see them around town, like migratory birds landed, briefly at the steak house: boys and girls in their prom finery. The boys look awed. Ordinarily they would be embarrassed, but the creatures seated beside them – the girls – have been so miraculously transformed. There is no appropriate response save wonder. Although that is […]
Read more "Where Else, Besides Death, Do We Go for Such Loss?: Reflections on Prom"I recently saw a post on Facebook. My friend’s daughter had “graduated” from kindergarten. It’s everywhere: graduation inflation. You get a cap and gown because you didn’t bite [too many] people in kindergarten, you passed 8th grade, you got your GED. But if everyone else is doing it, I will too. I want a lesbian […]
Read more "Lesbian Graduation"Renewal, rebirth, and regeneration are all words we throw around this time of year. For me though, this time of year brings a strange heavy and dragging feeling of unbridled anger, a dash of depression, and a thunderous wave of resentment over the last nineteen years. The last time I saw my father I was […]
Read more "The Other R-word"
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