10/12/2016 2 Comments Three Poems by Jennifer HernandezUnaccompanied Minor If you go before, my lamb – border dust, metallic screech&crash, needles full of poison, virus, malignancy, gunshot – my lamentations will spill with vowels. I will speak a new-old dialect, elongate my longing, a flicker like tiny soft fingers on my skin, a minor chord that resonates deep within the hollow organ of my body, you the antistrophe to my strophe. Abscission Literally, to cut. See: Scissors. But leaves fall on account of stress, like my hair. I’m deciduous, protect myself by shedding what’s extraneous. Skin. Bad boyfriends. I shut down to guard my core. Fractures speed release, conserve energy that I can reabsorb, carry to my roots, store for later, my fallen leaves not wasted. Decay feeds life. The Huntress You lie there prone, nothing concealed. I glass your terrain, spy jagged wisps of exhaustion rise like spines of cacti. Have I spooked you yet? Let me crabwalk across your hips, my soft muzzle aimed at the crosshairs of your heart. Bio: Jennifer Hernandez lives in Minnesota where she works with students from immigrant families and writes poetry, flash, and creative non-fiction. She has performed her writing at a non-profit garage, a taxidermy-filled bike shop, and in the kitchen for her children. Her recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in Dying Dahlia Review, Mothers Always Write and New Verse News, as well as Bird Float, Tree Song (Silverton Books), A Prince Tribute (Yellow Chair Press) and Write Like You’re Alive (Zoetic Press).
2 Comments
Linda Freeman
10/13/2016 06:35:56 am
I love reading your poetry. Please keep writing. Never give up the things you love.
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Jennifer Hernandez
10/14/2016 03:51:16 am
Thank you, Linda. I completely agree with you on that last statement.
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