ARS POETICA

by Megan Collins

Trivia Weatherspoon takes a photo of the mural depicting Alton Sterling following a July 7 prayer service and vigil at Triple S Food Mart where Sterling was shot and killed by Baton Rouge Police in the early hours of July 5. —The New Orleans Advocate, July 6, 2016. Advocate staff photo by HILARY SCHEINUK.

I don’t have a poem in me
for Alton Sterling.
I don’t want to write
how they laid out his body
like one in a coffin
before they even shot him.

I’m sick of stanzas
and what it takes
to build them.
The Italian for room,
yet they cannot house
the living or the dead,
can’t keep people safe
when the locks on their doors
are only words.

Look how these walls
tremble. See how the lines
never line up,
how they cannot be stacked
like men
and women
in the seasick belly
of a ship.

Look how the waves
keep surging,
how the water still gets in.
It doesn’t matter
how tightly
I craft my language
or if my metaphor
is mixed—
there’s no proper seal
in a sentence; there’s no one
these rooms can save.

Even now, at the close
of what I’ve written,
see how much I’ve already failed him—
how the end of this poem
is only a period
when it should be an infinite scream.

Megan Collins holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Boston University. She teaches creative writing at the Greater Hartford Academy of the Arts and Central Connecticut State University. She is also Senior Poetry Editor of 3Elements Review. Her work has appeared in many journals, including Linebreak, Off the Coast, Rattle, Spillway, and Tinderbox.

BEFORE THEY KICKED YOU OFF THE TRAIN

by Megan Collins

Five members of the Sistahs on the Reading Edge book club, all of Antioch, from left, Katherine Neal, Georgia Lewis, Lisa Renee Johnson, Allisa Carr and Sandra Jamerson stand together at Johnson’s home in Antioch, Calif., on Monday, Aug. 24, 2015. The five women were among 11 African-American women who were were booted off the Napa Valley Wine Train on Saturday afternoon. Johnson holds a photograph of the group that was taken before boarding the train. The Napa Valley Wine Train issued an apology Tuesday to a book club that includes mostly Black women who said they were booted from a tasting tour because of their race. . . . “The Napa Valley Wine Train was 100 percent wrong in its handling of this issue,” CEO Anthony “Tony” Giaccio said in a statement. “We accept full responsibility for our failures and for the chain of events that led to this regrettable treatment of our guests.” (Jose Carlos Fajardo/Bay Area News Group via AP and AFRO) 

I hope your laughter
felt like velvet
as it slipped
through your lips.
I hope your mouth
was wide open,
that your teeth
vibrated
with the sound of it,
your throat a stereo
announcing your joy
to the room.
I hope the sky
was an unbroken blue,
that when you watched it
out the window,
any wounds still stuck
to your bones
shook loose.
I hope the wine
shimmered
on your tongue,
that when the sun
passed through the bottle,
the chardonnay
shined like brass.
I hope the warmth
that rushed
through your body
made it even easier
to laugh, louder
and higher
until the pitch
of your laughter
shattered
every glass.


Megan Collins holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Boston University. She teaches creative writing and literature in Connecticut, and is also an editor of 3Elements Review. Her work has appeared in many journals, including Compose, Linebreak, Rattle, Spillway, and Tinderbox Poetry Journal.

RUNNING FOR BLOOD

by Megan Collins

Kiran Gandhi, a drummer for singer M.I.A. and Harvard Business School graduate, was called "disgusting" and "unladylike" after she ran the 26.2-mile race in April with blood running down her legs. She said she did it to raise awareness about women around the world who have no access to feminine products and to encourage women to not be ashamed of their periods. —People, August 13, 2015. Image source Kiran Gandhi via People.

She charged like Artemis
through the race.      

          We’re not as desperate
          for attention as she is.

She weaved between people
as if between trees in a forest.

          Must we all be involved
          with every single problem?

Her legs and lungs hunted
for the finish line.

          Must we monitor what women
          in other countries do?

Her blood bloomed
against her thighs.

          I’ll stick to worrying
          about Western women.
          If that makes me elitist,
          so be it.

It was a red moon waxing,
a dark flower unfurling.

          It isn’t natural
          for a civilized society.
          As a woman, I find it disgusting
          and unsanitary.

It was in her sisters’ names she bled,
but still, her sisters said,

          She should be ashamed.

Author’s note: Accompanying almost every news story about Ghandi in the past week has been an onslaught of comments from readers who vehemently oppose Ghandi’s actions and cause. I was surprised to see that most of the negative and especially vicious comments came from women, the very people who Ghandi was attempting to support. In my poem, the indented, italicized sections are quotes culled from some of those women’s comments.


Megan Collins holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Boston University. She teaches creative writing and literature in Connecticut, and is also an editor of 3Elements Review. Her work has appeared in many journals, including Compose, Linebreak, Rattle, Spillway, and Tinderbox Poetry Journal.

BELATED

by Megan Collins

I’ll admit I did it, too—loved a lion
I’d never heard of until he was dead.
Scrolling through photographs, I fell
for his amber eyes. I even noted how—
in some poses—he seemed as benign
as my golden retriever, asleep at my feet.
When I read of the arrow in this lion’s side,
the forty hours he suffered, I felt my throat
stiffen like cooling wax, felt my eyes
sting as if exposed to flame.

For days, I said his name—Cecil, Cecil—
but I had to Google the woman (Sandra!)
who died in a jail cell, who’d been dragged
from her car, pulled by her collar like a dog.
I loved her, then, too—how she fought
in ways I’ve never had to, how her smile
in photographs made me want to smile back.
Her laughter, I imagined, would sound like a song.

But—how easy it is to love a victim.
How easy to love what’s already gone.


Megan Collins holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Boston University. She teaches creative writing and literature in Connecticut, and is also an editor of 3Elements Review. Her work has appeared in many journals, including Compose, Linebreak, Rattle, Spillway, and Tinderbox Poetry Journal.