WHAT I TELL MYSELF

by Marjorie Tesser

 

That it’s all right to mourn. Okay to take a day to grieve. Okay to take it slow,

to do some yoga, take a nap; you know last night you didn’t sleep, the writing

on the wall a tale of loss on loss writ with excruciating slowness, unrelenting speed.

 

I warn myself not to indulge in doom prescience, worrying each bead

of a litany of despoliations sure to come. Try not to guess how they’ll pervert 

the name of freedom, desecrate “liberty,” have their nasty fun.

  

...women’s health and status racism xenophobia homophobia transphobia environmental waste bizarre quasi-scientific theories conspiracy book banning religious hegemony distasteful alliances impetuousness anti-intellectualism clannishness cronyism greed shitty “jokes” glorification of the mean spirited the sociopathic the stupid....

 

(I remind myself I was not going to do that. Tell myself it’s okay 

to backslide, as long as I catch it). Caution myself: anger can spark, 

but combust and turn to ashes.

 

Remind myself I can’t be so surprised; numbers show 

what I already knew in my heart: we’re still a misogynistic, 

racist nation in significant part. Remember that they feed 

 

on negative attention; deny them that sustenance. 

Command myself not to freeze in terror or wallow in despair; 

not to always blunt feelings with self-soothing behavior.

 

I tell myself my job’s the same: to be present, kind, true to my values

and respectful of others’, to support those that champion such aims 

and care for those who need. To uphold ideals, to interpret with empathy. 

 

To try to put it into words. To remind myself of bright points, precious few 

though they may be. I tell myself to write a poem take a walk talk with friends 

spend moments with an animal or tree.

 

The only way is forward.

 

Eyes and mouth, heart and hands and feet.

Marjorie Tesser’s poetry and fiction have appeared in Molecule, Cutleaf, poets.org, SWWIM, and others. She is the author of two poetry chapbooks, The Important Thing Is, winner of the Firewheel Chapbook Award (Firewheel Editions 2010), and The Magic Feather (FLP 2011). She has co-edited three anthologies of poetry and prose, and is editor in chief of MER - Mom Egg Review.

YOGA AND THE MUELLER REPORT

by Judith Terzi

Our bodies sinking into mats.
We are mountains on our heads.
Inhale, exhale. Collusion between
body and mind. We count long
breaths for remedy. We inhale.
Energy streams, recedes. We look
into ourselves, release the mélange
of hype, exhale the yoke of power's
deception. We twist into eagle pose.
We are king palms, oaks. We are
the sky, we inhale warmth, salute
the soar. We are royal warriors
in child's pose. We exhale all
the words. Our ears are sealed.

Author of Museum of Rearranged Objects (Kelsay Books, 2018) and five chapbooks, Judith Terzi's poems appear widely in literary journals and anthologies. Her poetry has been read on the BBC, nominated for Best of the Net and Web, and included in a study guide for the artist-in-residence program for State Theater New Jersey. She holds an M.A. in French Literature and lives in Pasadena, CA with her husband and cockatiel.

THE TROUBLE WITH YESTERDAY IS THAT IT'S NOT TODAY EVEN IF IT PLAGIARIZES YESTERDAY

by Dianna  Mackinnon Henning


Palestinian protesters near the Gaza-Israel border. YnetNews

it won’t be the same. The ironic bay window tires
revealing the picturesque—several fruit trees, aspen and
a roly-poly hillside marred with wildflowers. Shades are
more than pulled blinds. All those Palestinians shot
down. Windows break because they’re glass. Flesh is
not iron. It never will be nor does it aspire such. A young
boy’s boomerang is no weapon. They’ll kill him anyway.
Yesterday’s headlines announced hope. The trouble with
hope is that it shifts positions. Yoga doesn’t mean the body
bows like a field of wildflowers in a bilingual downpour.

Dianna Mackinnon Henning holds an MFA in Writing ’89 from Vermont College of Fine Arts. Her work has appeared in The Moth, Naugatuck River Review, Lullwater Review, The Red Rock Review, The Kentucky Review, The Good Works Review, The Main Street Rag, California Quarterly, Poetry International, Fugue, 22 Wagons, South Dakota Review, Trag, Hawai’i Pacific Review, and The Seattle Review. A three-time Pushcart nominee, Henning has taught poetry through California Poets in the Schools. The William James Association’s Prison Arts Program  gave her the opportunity to teach poetry at Folsom and other CA prisons. Henning’s third poetry chapbook Cathedral of the Hand was published in 2016 byFinishing Line Press.

MIRROR, MIRROR

by Jennifer Hernandez 

The single lines in the following poem are from Justine’s lecture “The Mirror Effect.”

for Justine Damond

Mirror her moves, sun salutation, cat and cow, warrior one, child's pose.
Mirror her breathing, peaceful expression, bright smile, calm voice.

The universe reflects back the energy you send out.

Mirror her concern, screams in the alley, a possible assault.
Mirror her fingers tap 9-1-1, watch out the window waiting.

We are all connected through a benevolent force.

Mirror her light footsteps, open the back door, step outside.
Mirror her strides to the police car, her shock at shots fired.

The quantum world is a world of unknowns and unpredictability.

Jennifer Hernandez lives in Minnesota where she works with immigrant youth and writes poetry, flash, and creative non-fiction. Much of her recent writing has been colored by her distress at that which appears in her daily news feed. She is marching with her pen. Recent work appears in Anti-Heroin Chic, Dying Dahlia, TheNewVerse.News, Rise Up Review and Writers Resist.