blank verse – Detroit Lit Mag

Jimena Washes an Apple in the Rain / Vincent Tice

Published on January 29, 2023December 13, 2022 by Detroit Lit MagLeave a comment

JIMENA WASHES AN APPLE IN THE RAIN

The door flung open for excessive heat
between the yellow oilskin and wet boots
and the drowsy cat upon the windowsill
frames well the slouching barn across, and she
who stands within it in blue overalls
waiting for the shower to pass—remembering
the apple in the pocket of her chest
and holding it beyond the eave to rinse.
My sight empties torrential into her as hers
into the dripping apple as the rain—
as the rain grew infinite between us.

Vincent Tice is a poet from northern California. He has been living out of a backpack for several years and working on farms. He has been recently published in PANK, and Rattle Press.

The Mouth, The Heart / Eugene Kamensky

Published on January 11, 2023December 13, 2022 by Detroit Lit MagLeave a comment

THE MOUTH, THE HEART

If I read these scriptures rightly,
The heart gives nutrients, and the mind
gives daily sunlight to the tongue’s soil
Which flowers and bears fruit in its time,
And lets fall blooms and leaves too, as it must—
And so this old room is filled with dried petals,
and desiccated fragments of past fragments.
Hence the madness in these icy drafts,
When late Novembers I surprise myself
With sudden starts of passion for the gales
Who long have buffeted the creaking panes,
And swing the windows open, letting in
A hundred eddies lifting sad and lame
Old syllables babbling themselves at once.
The babbling room! whom I suppose my heart
Alone may comprehend, of all hearts,
the babbling room!—the babbling room!

Eugene Kamensky is a divinity student at the Detroit Baptist Theological Seminary. He has been long inspired by Gerard Manley Hopkins’ masterful use of poetry to praise and exalt God in secular spaces, and he hopes to follow in those footsteps.

I Shall Remember Death / Eugene Kamensky

Published on December 14, 2022December 13, 2022 by Detroit Lit MagLeave a comment

I SHALL REMEMBER DEATH

I shall drink my morning coffee, Lord,
In relation to death. The bubbles on
The black brim pile like spiders’ eyes, and I am in them.
Death is like a fat spider, hiding.

I shall wipe my brow of sweat, my Abba,
With your Kingdom ever in my thoughts.
Death is like a frail man, his head hung,
Meekly tugging shirtsleeves, as for alms.

My Christ, it seems too hard to be a man.
I will lie down half forever when I’m done,
Or crawl about you, sobbing hallelujahs.
Death is like a dancer on a roof.

I shall not forget him. He is bright,
Like the sun. You make him bright for me.