Mariia Honcharova CC
Watching that ol’ river flow
That first summer of your
sloughed off like
so much dead skin
is there a choice?
(memory like the house guest who
puts the carving knife
in the wrong drawer, memory
the knife in the wrong drawer)
if you don’t remember you’ll improvise
some wordless melody, pieces
of you, beloved:
chk a dee dee chk a dee
Analogy is the bedfellow
of early Alzheimer’s, like
finding another word for whatchamacallit
eee bejeee bejeee eee bejeee bejeee
Is there a right way to hang laundry?
A branch snags
a scrap of your shirt
The pots on the verandah rearrange themselves as
you circle back on the trail, walking
widdershins instead of clockwise
All night the slither and crunch, sounds
truant as a melody or memory-
the current washing over you
through the night
while the dark
and things of flesh
and spirit bow
and we all
have to die,
some not gently.
Imperfect Ghazal for the Children of the Last Czar’s Lost Daughter
I said how quickly we become
our stories, but I meant our mothers.
My mother was a fish
out of water, and my birth
mother a phantom limb remapped
to the heart by the body’s faulty
sensory circuitry. How can
a heart know what it wants?
The leaf of the bloodroot wraps itself
around the blossom like a gowpen.
Anne Archer (aka Archer Lundy) is a musician and poet who lives on unceded Algonquin Territory near Sharbot Lake, Ontario. She is the author of two chapbooks: ICH HEISSE CLARA (Alien Buddha Press, 2021) and FROM THE FRONTENACS (Woodpecker Lane Press, 2022). Her poetry appears in The Eunoia Review, Sledgehammer Lit, The Raven's Perch, The Wise Owl, In The Mood Magazine, Yolk, and Poetry Pause ( a poem-a-day feature from the League of Canadian Poets).
Write something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview.