Election Day

By Diane Vogel Ferri

Election day is a carnival ride of hope
and despair, each taking their fluctuating
turns. In the back yard, birds and squirrels
continue coexisting, while we, the supposedly
more evolved, battle through every November
and false ad. The downy woodpecker hammers
away at the side of the house and I don’t care
because she’s committed to her life, she saves some
insects for others and thanks me with her beauty.
I cannot betray the consciousness I’ve worked so hard
for, so election day terror is like waking up in the dark
as a child and calling for help but making no sound.
All I have now is the sound of a pen making a circle
of black ink on a piece of paper and these words.


Diane Vogel Ferri’s full-length poetry book is Everything is Rising. Her latest novel is No Life But This: A Novel of Emily Warren Roebling. Her essays have been published in The Cleveland Plain Dealer, Scene Magazine, and Braided Way Journal among others. Her poems can be found in numerous journals. Her previous publications are Liquid Rubies (poetry), The Volume of Our Incongruity (poetry), and The Desire Path (novel). Diane’s forthcoming poetry book, The Slow Journey to Totality will be published in 2024. Her poem, For You, was nominated for a Pushcart Prize and a Best of the Net prize.

Photo credit: Ryan via a Creative Commons license.


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I Do Not Wait

By Trish Hopkinson

      —for Walt Whitman

 

nor am I dismissed.
I set myself apart, do not tremble
beneath terms—cold

 manly, butch, ball-breaker
bitch—do not determine my worth
by whom I am kept.

I ratchet skyward
take my place at the sun’s table
lifted by turquoise bone & bladed wings.

My scarab shell snubs boot heels
scurries and flutters solo
& yes, I possess myself.

I will not be held in a fist
pinned or stuffed in a case
pierced beneath glass.

I seat you in a room waiting
nude, simple & flaccid, unable
to siphon one more drop of sap.

My body is not yours to be dammed
instead, it releases grace in white waves
& demands nothing of anyone

but myself. I penetrate no one.
I illuminate the paths
of the unwaiting.

 


Trish Hopkinson is a poet, blogger, and advocate for the literary arts. You can find her online at SelfishPoet.com and provisionally in Utah, where she runs the regional poetry group Rock Canyon Poets and folds poems to fill Poemball machines for Provo Poetry. Her poetry has been published in several lit mags and journals, including Tinderbox, Glass Poetry Press, and The Penn Review; her third chapbook Footnote was published by Lithic Press in 2017, and her most recent e-chapbook Almost Famous was published by Yavanika Press in 2019. Hopkinson will happily answer to labels such as atheist, feminist, and empty nester; and enjoys traveling, live music, and craft beer.

Photo by Ines Álvarez Fdez on Unsplash.