ISSN 2692-3912

Bench Medley

 

Bench Medley

 

I couldn’t get the world off of me,

so I tucked myself under a park bench somewhere

around Broadway and sober,

but the days looked the same as they did at home

seeing half-life and life-half—

questioning if the whole of things were really there

or if truth-splintered sat waiting for someone, anyone

to take a seat long enough to carry a piece away;

seeing bands of sky and clouds, rain coming down in pauses

until the sun touched my brow and sections

of flesh from chin to toe.

 

And I wondered if it was any better here or if I should go back

into number sixteen and one across the way.

 

 

The Wailing of Maureen

 

She met the walls, she met the floors, and windows in between.

She met the sounds in hallowed halls—

The wailing of Maureen.

 

A staircase led beyond the known, she climbed so she could see,

the doors blown wide, the smokestack gone—

The wailing of Maureen.

 

She smelled the stench of memories, she smelled the lasting dread,

the taste of birth upon her tongue—

The wailing of Maureen.

 

A gable stretched into the sky, one step then liberty.

Unremembered but for her mother’s womb—

Oh, the wailing of Maureen!

 

 

Krysta Mayfield was born in Texas, and spent her childhood on the plains of North Dakota and in the woods of Virginia. She attended college in Lynchburg, Virginia, and is currently an undergraduate studying English Literature at the University of Texas Permian Basin. She writes both poetry and fiction. Ms. Mayfield currently lives in West Texas.

Otros artículos de esta categoría

 
Permian
Copenhagen
wayne
uacj
uach
italia
metropolitan
Noruegas
Unam
 

Otras Colaboraciones

Home Sweet Home

  No extrañaré nada, no habrá nada, qué extrañar: si da la casualidad que hubiese algo, un cacho de cuerpo óseo con entendimiento, cuerpo enamorado entre dos chubascos y unos matorrales de monte bajo, quizás en un seto de alheña y lagartos o un techo de terraza habanero con salamandra de ojos botados te extrañaría(de la indefensión sacando fuerzas de flaqueza contra la Imbatible, la de sí misma Pagada, Lechuzona, Calaca insustancial) tal y como Guadalupe en vida te extrañaba a diario durante años en casa.   DE LO PINTADO A LO REAL Esa cabeza llena de pájaros, la oía desde que tengo uso de razón, y a la defensiva in mente respondía (respondo) calandria a ruiseñor,...

The Birth and Development of “Minority” Communities in Odessa/Midland, TX: Beyond the Railroad Tracks

  Shortly after I arrived in Odessa, from Boston, MA, I started trying to understand the social fabric of the society in the town where...

El laberinto

ESTE poema es ocre y azul, barca entre nubes, luz en el agua, perfume de higuera, bostezo de gato, sombra verde, ola que resuena, ladrido...

Todos los paisajes son tu camino

UNA VOZ QUE LLORA EN EL DESIERTO Las pinturas de Guillermo Arreola son ecos que regresan desde un paisaje interior en donde una voz clama...

Bolero

  Amor, dolor y bolero – una educación sentimental y continental La canción La rosa roja (Oscar Hernández, 1926), parece resumir lo esencial del género musical...

God I Love This Country

  1 My name is Pete. Pedro. Peter. My record code is R-7C-B/USMC/63. Charles gave me this apostle’s name. Why a traitor’s name?, I asked several times. Why not, he...