A Woman at Veradero

At 15 I watch her buy Cuban cigars
and I can tell that she carries the taste of smoke
wherever she goes. Its richness hangs
about her like sleep,
a golden mist of many suns and hieroglyphs:
she reads hands and cocked hips
like they are a language that is not dead,
only resting.

When she breathes tobacco dust,
it is not escaping but returning to the earth,
to the leaf and the burnt orange field.
I think for a moment,
I should cover myself in a blanket of fertile soil
and only ever bathe in rain,

but I remember I have heaped
my bags with some sea glass
I found alone on a murky beach
and held to my eye, looking inland from the shore.
Miles away a stone-carved saint
scowls at the skyline smog.
She smacks a stick of chewing gum
and cracks her teeth on concrete.

It comes from deep caverns
in subterranean whispers
and it comes on the breath of a woman:

return.

By: Madeleine Quirk

Madeleine Quirk lives in Kingston, Ontario. She is in her senior year of high school. In her spare time, she enjoys reading poetry and singing with her choir.

Visual art by John Michael Dee

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Two Poems by Armaan Bamzai

Liebchen

white allegory
of woman walking through forest
redclothed, basketed, smiling
and inside the forest in Germany
from the black shadowfolds
of old trees / the sun is a chandelier
unpolished, growing yellower
& less yellow / fur coat sharp smile
and I must love this man?

and I must walk this mulch path
with his eyes my iron chains
i’ve heard it said that my body
is a renewable resource. what
that means is that it is infinite
it makes more of itself at every
touch. Dear, your resurrection
is old news / tell me about that
sofa you bought, PreLoved
white tartan cover / upholstery
bleeding medicine smell. springs
sticking out / like a brown boy
at a new school

oh, nevermind / we’re here, see
what a pretty cottage this is
in the middle of these blue woods
and what big teeth you have.

Noor

heiress of nothing
white pickup,
how many fires
in your wilderness
before you realize

your jeweled lines:

brow heavy gold
eye, sapphired

lips;
silk, silk,
silk, again.

hand on window
cigarette, trailing smoke
between pink fingers

your eyes are black
like cherry pits,
like dark dripping wounds

the women of Kashmir have faces.
translucent skins
They are stepping out of,

our women are filled full
with love.
love, and
hunger.

 

By: Armaan Bamzai

Armaan Bamzai is currently a high school at the International School Bangalore, in India, and has been unfailingly writing poetry (in whatever media he can) for the past four years now. The poem “Noor” is an homage to his Kashmiri heritage and “Liebchen” is a distorted narrative of the German folktale of Rotkaeppchen.

Visual art by Frankie Song 

 

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