Mary Kasimor

blue stories for hannah arendt


i was in a major motion picture
imprisoned in the mirror of my selves
sorting through identity moved away
from the futures of touch
water changed us like drowning
and what plastics we wore made us inhuman
our frozen faces inscrutable
the fires wove blue stories
we were lined up in the shadows
we were passing through never planning to stay
laws formed in the hours of our disobedience
negotiating with decay


when I was them
when our tongues fell out of windows
when we sat on buses and thought
about the quiet knitting of an old woman
faces blanked out of facing each other
the last cigarette
then amnesia offered up its amazing grace
i lived through this clumsy life
and i expected the lies to be lost
then the light pummeled the darkness
we re-arranged items into our edges
it was the meaning of my life
contorted with its brutal ending

sun at the market

there was no ending to the film
when miles of weapons agreed to meet
i wasn’t in it but i thought about it
they said “never happening again
replacing fear forever”
the children are not found in one production
they are emptying themselves into the knife drawer
folding over the words dulling the air
but i stayed in one place without a story
i was simple and small
living to obtain small things
i left them behind
trembling in a white shiny emergency
sun at the market
torn from a seed and divine depression
i stood behind the counter and poured out my regrets
i poured the earth back in
i poured the sun back out
their voices were on a list in a message

collecting magic

the tribes of science have broken through
but my face still aches for love
someone leaves captivity
blood dripping in air
is a simple test of physics
you become the price of
one collectively practicing a form of magic
you found your radio screaming
out a green night
making the world’s first folk tale
mud tells us about mud in action
you needed loss behind the curtains
you said mystery
it was never questioned
you were a mistaken identity
and i was a tree branch
the end was quickly becoming the wheat in the fields
and the bread was pre-human and made out
of the sun’s claustrophobia
i carried the world in a spoon
then in a poem
it was a man’s creation spread over the hills
fighting for more hidden land

Mary Kasimor has been writing poetry for many years. Her poetry has been published in journals, including Word For/Word, Touch the Donkey, Posit, Human Repair Kit, Arteidolia (collaboration with Susan Lewis), and Otoliths. Her recent poetry collections are The Landfill Dancers (BlazeVox Books 2014), Saint Pink (Moria Books 2015), The Prometheus Collage (Locofo Press 2017), and Nature Store (Dancing Girl Press 2017). She has a new book out published by BlazeVox Books, entitled Drink Me. She has also been a reviewer of many small press poetry collections.
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