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Cerebral Contents:
Update for 05.13.08:
Male Model by Phil Doran
Set to Replay by Willie Smith
Backsliding by Cynthia Ruth Lewis
Tree by G. David Schwartz
05.05.08:
Disintegration by Don Hucks
Five Feet and Building by Joel Van Noord
Grocery Aisle by Richard Lighthouse
Cross the Road by Ashok Niyogi
04.29.08:
Lookalikes by Phil Doran
Dinner by Brandi Wells
The Modern Covenant by Daniel E. Wilcox
Death by Onions by Michael Frissore
04.21.08:
Future's Children by Kimberly Raiser
Identity Theft by George Anderson
The Datists by Adam Engel
A Great Deal of Money by Justin Hyde
04.14.08:
Mr. Papaya and Dale by Eric Suhem
California by Caroline Imreibe
Aftermath of Vehement Argument #1,068 by Cynthia Ruth Lewis
Trip-Hammer Vitality by Lisa Nickerson
04.07.08:
The Florence of Basel, or Why Readers of Nietzsche Need to Read Burckhardt by Jeff Crouch
Slideshow by Miles J. Bell
Friends of the Poet by Sean C. Bowen
Picture Perfect by Leah Baldwin
03.24.08:
The Streak by Jeremy Hendrix
Grab Your Butts by Emme Hor
Far Away by Ashok Niyogi
Staring Down a White-Tailed Doe by Aleathia Drehmer
03.17.08:
The Hairbrush by Vernard Kennedy
Dog Days of Winter by Niall Berkeley
Poem From My Grave by Michael Lee Johnson
Mashed Potatoes and Hamburgers by Matt Finney
03.10.08:
Hard Work by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
Jetty Cake Pigs by J.D. Nelson
I'm Quiet in Bed by Moctezuma Johnson
Tequila Shakes by Richard Lighthouse |
When She Meets Her Maker
by Aleathia Drehmer
(Runner-Up Winner of the 2007 Bird Flu Poetry Contest!)
The delicate, azuline
egg lies fractured,
its only impurity,
alone beneath
the brush like candy;
a present from the rabbit
that cannot be denied.
My body folds in half
reaching under
the prickly leaves,
fingers prudent as they
move to embrace it.
The tip of my pinkie
grazes a warmth
softer than pongee.
I relent to the ground
face in the moist dirt,
finding the maker there
half breathless, perfect
round black eyes
alight with fear
stemmed from paralysis.
It cannot move,
it cannot convince me away
with its sharp honeyed beak.
I touch the vermilion breast
of feathers before lifting
the bird with both hands
towards my face.
This precious one, the
one that lays the eggs
the color of sky, the color of
tropical waters, the color of
candy sweet and tempting,
shudders over my palms
breath halting quiet.
Liquid swells over the eyes,
shiny obsidian jewels,
its body limp in my hands.
Sickness overwhelms
the maker,
now the taker
of eggs and sky.
I place my pink, fleshy lips
around the gold beak,
careful to seal them with
my symmetry and love,
blowing in a wisp
of breath, tiny lungs lifting
a tiny red breast
to inflate them like
magical balloons.
The maker gives me the mark,
tells me the secrets to dying,
to formulating eggs and calculating
thermal projections of sky wind.
I cannot begin to understand
how far it will take me,
above and below
the blue perfections.
______________________________________
Aleathia Drehmer was born
in the '70s to a set of wanderlust parents. She has an odd sense of humor
and likes to be observant. Writing started as a portal to another dimension
when she was 10 years old... she is still floating in space. Her work
has been published in Laura Hird, The Cerebral Catalyst,
Poet Plant Press, Haggard & Halloo, The Clockwise Cat, Outsider
Writers, Word Riot, Silenced Press, and Motherkisser. She has
upcoming work in Rural Messengers Press, Cherry Bleeds, and
Mystery Island. She is a staff writer for Outsider Writers
and a co-editor at Zygote in My Coffee. A
collection of her work can be visualized at www.myabdication.blogspot.com.
posted 11.12.07.
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05.05.08
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