Today’s choice
Previous poems
L. Haiman
O is the Mother Letter
My baby is hungry. Grabs
me with both hands. I am
an apple, apparently no will. I give in
to his teeth and hate it. Him I love! I can’t say No and even when I do
I go back
On my word. It must be that consent is
Ancient.
Older even.
A code written
In our body, a binary of unspoken NO’s / misspoken YES’s,
I guess it must have started with a
( o )
Breast.
And mouths to feed: the need
to quench and satiate an Other at the great
Expense of self. Give comfort, forfeit
Feeling safe.
L. Haiman is a Romanian-born multidisciplinary artist who lives and works in Margate, UK. L. Haiman’s work explores bilingualism, cultural identity, and intergenerational trauma across concrete poetry and prose. L. Haiman’s poetry writing has appeared in West Trade Review, The William and Mary Review, and Ink Sweat & Tears and was shortlisted for the Alpine Fellowship.
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Antony Dunn
Have you heard the one about
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I measure distance in Spotify playlists
so I can’t be trusted with maps.
Myra Schneider
Forget the invisible network of servers which stores
and manages or mismanages data in the unending sky
far above our heads . . .
Sef
The body is not solid. The body is almost perfect.
Jon Miller
The upper floor of the old byre
a darkness made of owl-stare—
its blink drinks you in.
Salvatore Difalco
No green swell this evening
will detach me from my hat.
Annah Atane
That night,
the stars had slept. The wind
silent as something dying.