Jennifer Acker's Blog, page 47
February 7, 2023
Resuscitation
BETH HAHN
A man swims to the left of Julia, and a woman to the right. They are blurs of misted goggles, the glint of a silver, latex cap. They flip like sleek fish at the pool’s wall. Julia is sure they are having an affair. The two showed up at the same time, splitting the three-lane pool with Julia.
A man swims to the left of Julia, and a woman to the right. They are blurs of misted goggles, the glint of a silver, latex cap. They flip like sleek fish at the pool’s wall. Julia is sure they are having an affair. The two showed up at the same time, splitting the three-lane pool with Julia.
February 3, 2023
Friday Reads: February 2023
Welcome back to Friday Reads! Here in Western Mass, a frigid February is upon us—a perfect excuse to stay inside with a good book. Need help finding that perfect read? Look no further than these recommendations from The Common’s contributors.
February 2, 2023
Translation: Untamable Animals
PILAR QUINTANA
In the Orinoco, the easternmost point of Colombia, a German traveler told me about a jaguar that was kept in a preserve on the Pacific, the westernmost point of Colombia. He said they took it out to walk it like a dog, with a collar and leash. Jaguars aren’t domesticable animals.
In the Orinoco, the easternmost point of Colombia, a German traveler told me about a jaguar that was kept in a preserve on the Pacific, the westernmost point of Colombia. He said they took it out to walk it like a dog, with a collar and leash. Jaguars aren’t domesticable animals.
February 1, 2023
Monsoon
URVI KUMBHAT
From my window I see a boy shaking the bougainvillea / for flowers. My parents talk of pruning it. They talk / of little else. The tree, spilling wildly past our house into / the gulley—where boys come to smoke or piss.
From my window I see a boy shaking the bougainvillea / for flowers. My parents talk of pruning it. They talk / of little else. The tree, spilling wildly past our house into / the gulley—where boys come to smoke or piss.
January 26, 2023
January 2023 Poetry Feature: New Poems by TC Contributors
JULIA KOLCHINSKY DASBACH
I hear the baby cry even before / she knows need. I hear her / behind my eyes, she's / beautiful, everyone says, it's / the eyes, yours, giant almonds / swirling hazel, churning / deep in the primitive part / of the skull, the brain's / medial-temporal lobe / where neurons multiply.
I hear the baby cry even before / she knows need. I hear her / behind my eyes, she's / beautiful, everyone says, it's / the eyes, yours, giant almonds / swirling hazel, churning / deep in the primitive part / of the skull, the brain's / medial-temporal lobe / where neurons multiply.
January 18, 2023
Effluent of the Affluent
MARY BERGMAN
We are losing this place twice over: first to money, and then to sea. There are ways to quantify these losses: only 3,200 bushels of scallops were caught this past winter and more than $2 billion in real estate transactions were recorded last year. My parents aren’t sure where they should be buried.
We are losing this place twice over: first to money, and then to sea. There are ways to quantify these losses: only 3,200 bushels of scallops were caught this past winter and more than $2 billion in real estate transactions were recorded last year. My parents aren’t sure where they should be buried.
January 16, 2023
Finding One’s Way Through Bewilderment: Virginia Konchan interviews Nathan McClain
NATHAN McCLAIN
A space rife with material for building poems) to the broader landscape and society, our collective memory, cultural histories and, as you point out, legacies, and so forth. Or at least I hope that’s the effect—that as I personally grow, so grows the work.
A space rife with material for building poems) to the broader landscape and society, our collective memory, cultural histories and, as you point out, legacies, and so forth. Or at least I hope that’s the effect—that as I personally grow, so grows the work.
January 13, 2023
January 2023 Poetry Feature
MYRONN HARDY
In a field of asters I find you in blue. / You are watching something fly something predatory. / The sky is some version of violet / like the asters. That symmetry haunts. It’s a well into the well I don’t see / but know is there. The water beneath / us in us in the asters in the sky.
In a field of asters I find you in blue. / You are watching something fly something predatory. / The sky is some version of violet / like the asters. That symmetry haunts. It’s a well into the well I don’t see / but know is there. The water beneath / us in us in the asters in the sky.
January 12, 2023
Crawl Space
MELANIE S. SMITH
The basement crawl space is tinged with dread. And a little bit of pride too. Because both my late husband John and my father—and even the firefighter I had to call when it flooded—hated the idea of having to go in. The dimly lit space is only eighteen inches high.
The basement crawl space is tinged with dread. And a little bit of pride too. Because both my late husband John and my father—and even the firefighter I had to call when it flooded—hated the idea of having to go in. The dimly lit space is only eighteen inches high.
January 11, 2023
Moon Hill
SAM WHITE
Vigorous activity had always brought him energy, opening a hunger for more. But now ten minutes of walking, even on the treadmill in his apartment, just opened up a desire to be horizontal again. Everything did. His sons told him to rest. The medical tests found nothing.
Vigorous activity had always brought him energy, opening a hunger for more. But now ten minutes of walking, even on the treadmill in his apartment, just opened up a desire to be horizontal again. Everything did. His sons told him to rest. The medical tests found nothing.
