Blanket Sea

Arts & Literary Magazine

Tag: poetry (page 1 of 3)

“Matryoshka” by Kori Frazier Morgan

Listen to Kori Frazier Morgan read “Matryoshka.” 

 

Most of the time,
it feels like I’m sloshed on the couch,
watching the newest Netflix Original Series
known as Me Going About My Day, in which
I am a spectator rather than a participant.
It’s not even an interesting show at that—
the Protagonist has no agency, barely
does anything, just sits there dazed,
as if she, too, is merely watching herself
watch someone else, watch someone
else.… Read more ““Matryoshka” by Kori Frazier Morgan”

“Sick Woman” by Sol Camarena Medina

Listen to Sol Camarena Medina read “Sick Woman.”

 

Your mouth so blue even birds
get lost in it.

Nobody realizes
how sick you are, not even your doctor, oh no, they’re all praising
your sapphire tongue, your teeth like tiny turquoises hanging on an ancient necklace
your palate smells of the dead but your lover’s turned into a raven
and waits for the funeral the way you wait for harvest.… Read more ““Sick Woman” by Sol Camarena Medina”

“EEG” by Rachel Tanner

The nurse comes by to
touch up the electrodes on my head.
Add glue.
Add chemicals. She says
You clench your teeth pretty often.
Did you know that?
It’s ok. I clench my teeth, too.

My entire body is tense all the time
& I can’t explain why. I’ve been a
cluster of anxiety since the day I was born.… Read more ““EEG” by Rachel Tanner”

Poetry from Orooj-e-Zafar’s HEART THE SIZE OF A LOOSENING FIST

Fixation

And I used to say, I am in awe of the universe,
when my body wanted to dive headfirst
into its vast everythingness. I have said,
Honesty is important to me, when I’ve meant
I need to know what the collateral damage
will be to cater to it. I say, I’ve never found
home in a place, when my body becomes an earthquake
at the thought of armor clinking.… Read more “Poetry from Orooj-e-Zafar’s HEART THE SIZE OF A LOOSENING FIST”

“the spider” by Rebecca Kokitus

I stand on the bathroom scale and
a spider crawls out from under it

and there’s no pain scale for these hurts so
I make a tally in the shower, each fifth strand
of hair criss-crossing little prison windows so
I don’t lose count

and the spider disappears itself back under
the bathroom scale and my witchbelly is
tightened like a snare, my little blue toes
can be seen for miles and whatever
is possessing me—I am trying to starve it

my insides nebulous as teddy bear filling
and the sun through the warped window
goes right through my warped skin

my body is a dumpster behind
a flower shop, my body is edgeless
as an island

 

 

Rebecca Kokitus is a poet residing in the Philadelphia area.… Read more ““the spider” by Rebecca Kokitus”

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