Light Source Unknown
by
Jennifer Angelina Petro
Moving through
the world,
a living shadow,
without
a body,
light source
unknown.
Tag Archives: dysphoria
Independence Day, 2016, by Radiance Angelina Petro
Independence Day, 2016
By
Radiance Angelina Petro
Fireflies riot in the trees,
I can’t distinguish them
From the moon-lit sequins
On my skirt as I stride
Through the damp grass
Into the night-draped yard.
Fireworks pop—dull, crisp—
Somewhere people on blankets
Look up, wondering how good
The finale will be (it is always so
Sudden—leaving the scent of sulphur
And wisps of smoke to dissolve
Very anti-climatically
Into the sky).
Fire consumes light for a living.
I long to turn and run
Through the black hole of my life,
And plunge head-first
Into the churning mouth
Of the sun.
Please help support my transition. Thank you.
Rising Up to Meet the Road, by Jennifer Angelina Petro
Rising Up to Meet the Road
By
Jennifer Angelina Petro
There are poems unfinished
Waiting in the woods beneath roots of trees
And hovering, like horsetail clouds behind the moon;
There are songs unwritten
Following beside me as I walk,
Their melodies coming in snippets, like
Distant birdcalls or pieces
Of dreams, and soundbites
Of conversations overheard
In used bookstores, classrooms, and coffee shops,
Their rhythms blossoming
From the muse and the soul touching all night, all day,
Every day, when I am not able to dance
Either asleep or awake;
There is work undone
Waiting in the universe, making its way
Towards my door, opportunities
Growing, like flower gardens
Planted when no one is looking,
But they are coming, they are revealing
Themselves little by little, like
Spring in the coldest of winters;
There are people unloved
Waiting in the wings for me to release the spirits
That bind me–to make my way
Towards the light, to open
The hands of my heart
And let in those who see
And feel and know my name,
And for me to step through
The fourth wall and into their arms and lives;
There are answered prayers
Unprayed, waiting to be let loose
Into the world, like
So many fireflies, like a carnival
Of children, like a collection
Of songs and poems
Published on the wings
Of pain and healing and lifting their way
Into moonlit clouds and sunlit days,
And alighting back down as angels and
Moonbeams, sunbeams and ends of rainbows,
Petals of cherry blossoms,
Dragonflies, and cries of cicadas
And morning doves, and beings
Of all the elements, and all of this, all of this
Swirling into one, worthy to be lived
Life of one woman rising up
To meet the road.
My Nest Was Built With Little Bones, by Jennifer Angelina Petro
My Nest Was Built With Little Bones
By
Jennifer Angelina Petro
My nest was built with little bones,
Shells, feathers, twigs, candy wrappers,
Shiny things, torn pages of catechisms, shabads,
And pornographic magazines,
It was made of moss and hair, abandoned ribbons,
Scraps of red bandannas, silken scarves,
Shopping lists, and spit.
For years I incubated beneath the hollow-boned lark,
Or was it a mockingbird?
My shell survived storms
And long stretches where only monsters,
Drunken owls, and sleepy seagulls smothered me
In the night. I learned to hide myself—
A nest within a nest—an egg within an egg;
I lived tucking parts of me away
I never wanted. Brooding memories
Filled the nest like bits of worms regurgitated,
And every now and again I caught a glimpse of a faraway blue sky.
When the egg hatched and the nest
Bloomed, I stared blindly into myself,
Wiggling stubs of wings I so wanted covered with feathers and flight.
Yet now, I live, I walk, a nest on legs, a human egg, a permanent fledgling—
Wings clipped, song raspy with rain and darkness,
And a road of eggshells spreading out before me wherever I go.
Hopelessness Fogging, by Jennifer Angelina Petro
Hopelessness Fogging
By
Jennifer Angelina Petro
Ravens gather in the spring oak,
Waiting, staring down;
Day after day they descend
Into the budding branches
Until their gathering becomes a flock
And their flock a swarm;
When they sense hopelessness
Fogging through my bones in my room,
As one they open the cloaks of their wings,
Drift to the ground,
And move—one bobbing, black, cawing sea
Marching towards my door.
For Mishima
For Mishima
By
Joseph Anthony Petro
Wear a kimono,
Dawn the sun,
Sweat with your lovers
And night soil men,
Put down your tanto,
Lift up the pen,
Sweat with your lovers,
And dance in the snow of your words.
Step one way
Or the other,
Away from the purgatory
Of being trapped in the fourth wall,
Go beyond shame,
Go beyond dysphoria,
And sweat with your lovers
And night soil men.
Let the mask of your grandmother,
Mask of St. Sebastian, mask
Of traditions, mask of the broken mirror,
And let them melt away like painted snow,
And then dance Imperial Crescent Moon–
Dance with your words
And dance with yourself
And sweat with your lovers
In beds of satin,
Take Omi’s hand—his white-gloved hand,
And walk the dew covered grass
To the Golden Pavilion,
And wrestle with him, like a child
In its golden light,
Blossom in his arms,
Let him cool your fevers
And clear your lungs
With his breath,
And let the terrible destruction
Wrought by shame
And straying too far
From your luminous beauty,
Fall away like cherry blossom petals in spring,
And dance, dance in the fields
Of your flame-colored words,
And let the Emperor of Peace
Rule your troubled and elegant land.