Jennifer Acker's Blog, page 11
February 20, 2025
Excerpt from The Undercurrent
SARAH SAWYER
They will join the two lonely streets together, and the mice will disappear, and the tall grass, and maybe the bluebonnets too. Probably the girl will be allowed to ride her bike from here to the other side of the neighborhood. The new street will be hers, too, after all.
They will join the two lonely streets together, and the mice will disappear, and the tall grass, and maybe the bluebonnets too. Probably the girl will be allowed to ride her bike from here to the other side of the neighborhood. The new street will be hers, too, after all.
February 19, 2025
Dispatch from Marutha Nilam
SAKTHI ARULANANDHAM
With the swiftness and dexterity / of a hawk that pounces upon a chicken / and takes it by force, / the bird craves / snapping up a vast terrain / with its powerful, sharp beak / and flying away with it. // When that turns out to be impossible, / in the heat of its great big sigh, / all the rivers dry up.
With the swiftness and dexterity / of a hawk that pounces upon a chicken / and takes it by force, / the bird craves / snapping up a vast terrain / with its powerful, sharp beak / and flying away with it. // When that turns out to be impossible, / in the heat of its great big sigh, / all the rivers dry up.
February 18, 2025
Excerpt from Group Living and Other Recipes
LOLA MILHOLLAND
My mom sets her bike seat high—she claims it keeps her left foot from cramping. As she pedals, her butt swishes across the saddle, side to side, so she can reach each pedal at its lowest point. I bike a little ways behind ... The Amish in their fields and buggies wave at us.
My mom sets her bike seat high—she claims it keeps her left foot from cramping. As she pedals, her butt swishes across the saddle, side to side, so she can reach each pedal at its lowest point. I bike a little ways behind ... The Amish in their fields and buggies wave at us.
February 17, 2025
Excerpt from Tripas
BRANDON SOM
One grandmother with Vicks, one with Tiger Balm, rubbed / fires of camphor & mint, old poultices, / into my chest: their palms kneading & wet with salve, / its menthols, to strip the chaff & rattle in a night wheeze. Can you / hear their lullabies?
One grandmother with Vicks, one with Tiger Balm, rubbed / fires of camphor & mint, old poultices, / into my chest: their palms kneading & wet with salve, / its menthols, to strip the chaff & rattle in a night wheeze. Can you / hear their lullabies?
February 14, 2025
Four Poems by JinJin Xu
JINJIN XU
my mother, my father. / Her skinny blue wrists, his ear caressing a cigarette. In the beginning, / it is already too late, but there is hunger & no time / to waste. All they need are six hands, three mouths, a clockwork / yearning for locks of their own, windows square & fresh.
my mother, my father. / Her skinny blue wrists, his ear caressing a cigarette. In the beginning, / it is already too late, but there is hunger & no time / to waste. All they need are six hands, three mouths, a clockwork / yearning for locks of their own, windows square & fresh.
February 12, 2025
LitFest 2025 Excerpts: Video Poems by Paisley Rekdal
PAISLEY REKDAL
On the seventh day / of the seventh month, magpies / bridge in a cluster of black and white // the Sky King crosses to meet his Queen, time tracked / by the close-knit wheeling / of stars. I watch. You come // to me tonight, drunk on wine / and cards, nails ridged black / with opium
On the seventh day / of the seventh month, magpies / bridge in a cluster of black and white // the Sky King crosses to meet his Queen, time tracked / by the close-knit wheeling / of stars. I watch. You come // to me tonight, drunk on wine / and cards, nails ridged black / with opium
February 11, 2025
Gently
DAN HECK
After years of being saved by him, it was reflexive, natural. For once, he leans on me, and my steadiness returns, while my sight sharpens. There’s an explosion of lemon-scented Pine-Sol. We laugh and pretend we’re caught in the rain. Intimate, wet, laughter. I’m safe.
After years of being saved by him, it was reflexive, natural. For once, he leans on me, and my steadiness returns, while my sight sharpens. There’s an explosion of lemon-scented Pine-Sol. We laugh and pretend we’re caught in the rain. Intimate, wet, laughter. I’m safe.
February 10, 2025
Home and/or Home: Seán Carlson Interviews Erin Fornoff and Gustav Parker Hibbett
ERIN FORNOFF
You sometimes have to modulate these stories from home. Like, I would be at the pub, talking to Irish people, and mention that my childhood dog got killed by a bear. And it was just like a record scratched.
You sometimes have to modulate these stories from home. Like, I would be at the pub, talking to Irish people, and mention that my childhood dog got killed by a bear. And it was just like a record scratched.
February 6, 2025
Mantra 5
KRIKOR BELEDIAN
from channel to channel / the lengthening beauty of shadows that float and bow down / and suck at the stones and planks / of the damp, bitter fog / of loneliness, / stone horses let loose their golden neighs / and the waters transform to / stained glass
from channel to channel / the lengthening beauty of shadows that float and bow down / and suck at the stones and planks / of the damp, bitter fog / of loneliness, / stone horses let loose their golden neighs / and the waters transform to / stained glass
February 5, 2025
Dispatch from Camelback Mountain
CHRISTOPHER AYALA
There is a part of me who everyday thinks of being back in Arizona walking around blistering days, laughing how when I had them to myself, I had thought this was the end of the line, that there had never been a worse place on earth. That’s mid-thirties type clarity.
There is a part of me who everyday thinks of being back in Arizona walking around blistering days, laughing how when I had them to myself, I had thought this was the end of the line, that there had never been a worse place on earth. That’s mid-thirties type clarity.
