Monday, April 27, 2009

Featured Poet: Holly Day

"There’s an awful lot of pressure involved in sending out poetry during National Poetry Month. Perhaps it’s because I assume that thousands and thousands more poets are sending out their writing this month more than any other month, and the thought of that level of competition frankly scares the crap out of me. Writing is a competitive enough sport as it is, and I’m not a particularly competitive person."

-While Holly Day did not send in a formal bio or photo, I found her cover letter worthy of attaching as a reflection of April being "National Poetry Month."

I'm not much for competitive sports, anyway. Enjoy her poems! -Russell

I Hold Your Big Fat Heart In My Hands

Extinguish the joy in my heart, my head, tonight

I open my body to you like a dependant cripple

Supine, sublime, sometimes I wonder what we’re doing here, and

Then I realize how little I actually want to know the

Truth. Your hands push against me like rough, angry starfish

Press my starlight thoughts of you in between pages of Hitler

Some leather-bound book filled with piles of crushed leaves. In

Time, I just know we could become friends, the emotional cripple

The raging lunatic. I chose to be the weaker of the two of us, and

It has nothing to do with you, not really. The

Closest thing I’ve come to love like this is this, tidepool starfish

Wrestling for pieces of meat, so slow like Hitler

Decomposing beneath heaps of garbage and dirt. You let me in

Last night, and just because I let you touch me then doesn’t mean I have to tonight.

And even though we’ve settled into this domesticity, there will always be the

Images I have of you, unflattering. Hitler hands starfish out against me, touch my backside--

If I let you in again tonight

Will you cripple me further still?

I Deny You

all this talk of reconciliation

and all I see is the back of your head

how I want so bad to pick up a hammer

and smack it into the small round

bald spot growing there.

I can feel the fire balling up

in my middle, billowing out

until I can touch it with my palms

how easy it would be to take

this boulder of tangible anger

smash it down on you

make you flat and small.

I’d Help, But I’m Not Really Here

she says, do nothing

and I’ll make it all right

be quiet and no one will know.

I am a statute in her shadow, I am

a monument to quiet, she will fix everything and

I have no need to move.

she says, say nothing

tell no one, you didn’t see

she says, go back to sleep, I’ll be back

in the morning

I am a monument to shadows, to quiet

So still I don’t even look like Alive

I am a statute of I didn’t see

these memories of dying even as they are born