a poetry e-zine










Dawn Angelicca Barcelona

curro, currere, cucurri, cursus.

walking away is as helpful
as putting a dime into
a poor man's hand.
and without your eyes on him,
the poor man is licking LIBERTY
raised next to the face of a paraplegic,
palming his coldness, scratch at each
of the one hundred-eighteen ridges on his coin.
you might have thought,
“poor man, bless his soul” had you stood
for his reaction.

it was like stirring formula
fifty-times over,
when you could have given
baby your breast,
believing that “fortified”
somehow makes a glorified mother.
sloppy tongue
on bare nipple skin:
the irritation down your spine
was sign of an intruder
sucking away your privacy.

dinner often remained untouched,
and moments later you would
stretch your limbs out on the porch

thinking confidently:

to run is to care.

curo, curare, curavi, curatus.



Donald Miller Translation


The human body

is one of perfection, with its long limbs and toned torso

hair most unlike barbed wires and akin to the
blackness of night with softness of
smooth skin warm and glowing as it

essentially recreates itself

in a transformation, the body slowly
undergoes its metamorphosis without the cocoon

the chrysalis cracks open from inside the body

every six months

the body is a butterfly for a day
flapping its silky monarch wings to bare air
throwing orange and black illustrations
into sugar-white, sugar-smooth sky.

Nearly every cell of hair and skin and bone dies

as does any living thing:
the hearts of flower shriveling against winter wind,
the fall and crisp deadness of autumn leaves,
summer sunsets cut shorter day by day

and another is directed to its former place

in an exile of the old, placing the new
into places worn down
puzzle pieces that do not fit
but still create a kaleidoscope
every angle a different image:

you are not who you were last February.


Dawn Angelicca Barcelona is a sophomore at Rutgers University majoring in English with a concentration in Creative Writing. She hopes to pursue an MFA in Poetry after graduation and teach poetry workshops to at-risk adolescents in metropolitan areas.

Copyright 2012  Chantarelle's Notebook