Dear Cindy from First Literary Review-East,
So often we write, never knowing if our poems will inflate.
So often, we gather up language like secrets, like love letters we never send, like recipes, like receipts, like wishes
but even if our poems never make it to computer screens or inside books or spray painted on walls for others to capture, they still exist
they always exist,
waiting to be
swallowed.
Thank you to Cindy Hochman, beautiful poet and editor who encouraged me to submit some poems to First Literary Review-East.
Check out my poem, walking toward cemetery mountain.
walking toward cemetery mountain
while sleeping,
maybe a bone or two
removed
the next morning,
I fell
enough blood to fill a carved-out dictionary
all that red
my hands, grated shivers
what if this elevation has softened me somehow
or interrupted
my understanding of movement
I found two joints beneath my pillow which I swallowed, hoping to reconnect the parts of me stolen in the night
Aimee Herman 