a poetry e-zine

 

 

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

Poems By Anna Evans
Suddenly

Images of us naked, touching and kissing,
deliver my body a deep, systemic jolt,
which must be why I know I love you. Suddenly
my heart blinks; my eyes open in the dark.

Delivering my body a deep, systemic jolt,
electricity fused us into an unshockable whole
heart. Blinking, our eyes opened. In the dark
we understood we need never be alone again.

Electricity fused us. Into an unshockable whole
we poured everything we were. In that moment
I understood I need never be alone again,
because I am the vessel into which

you poured everything. We were, in that moment,
perfect. And this feeling is always with me,
because I am the vessel into which
you released the boy you were, the man you are:

perfect—and this feeling is! Always with me,
images of us naked. Touching and kissing,
you released the boy you were, the man you are.
Which must be why I know I love you, suddenly.




To Edna St. Vincent Millay

I wish I’d lived the jazz age years with you,
when a cute chick whose iambs hopped to rhyme
was guaranteed an audience—a time
of speakeasies, adultery. And who
would make a wilder tour guide to taboo?
Party at Steepletop! Then at the chime
of midnight—buzzed on gin—we’d strip and climb
into your pool with a young man or two.

Instead, my mail brings yet another terse
rejection; I print chapbooks out to sell
at unpaid local readings where the guys
ogle my cleavage and ignore my verse.
I’d trade (though you died early, poor, unwell)
my measured strivings for your starlit highs.




What We Don’t See Coming

The slab of ice rinking
the roof of the eighteen wheeler
loosed an avalanche crack,
spun toward my windshield,
a giant hand axe.

Pure, dumb luck
its blade hurtled
over the car to splinter
on the asphalt, alongside
my instant of terror.

If I’d had time to maneuver—
adrenaline skyrocketing
the probability of wrong guesses—
I might have jockeyed the car
to the exact spot where
the frozen guillotine would have
sliced through glass, metal,
skin, bone.

Instead, powerless I witnessed
winter’s biggest throw:
the bright mass obliterating
my view suddenly,
like love.

 


Anna Evans’ poems have appeared in the Harvard Review, Atlanta Review, Rattle, and 32 Poems. She gained her MFA from Bennington College, and is the Editor of the Raintown Review. Her chapbooks Swimming and Selected Sonnets are available from Maverick Duck Press.
 

Copyright 2010  Chantarelle's Notebook