Evan Twitchell

Evan Twitchell

Allison A/acy

LesTors LInrys

la premidre partie--la lettre

lwanted to tellyou that I love you. Ithat alright? Am I allowed to love you? Am I allowed to love? I want to love you. I want to protect you and hold you and keep you safe and callyou mine and kiss you gently in the falling rain or snow. But lh not entitled to that luxury, because you love him. And lam not him.

la deuxidme partie--le d6sir

Won't you part your honeyed lips for me? Kiss my tortured mouth, parched from your absence. Hold me and sing me to sleep, and maskthe everpresent scent of death on my slowing breaths with your little signs of affection.

dnitlin fnllnhn,l

Crack open the disdainful glass doors and find me

waiting for you, here, forever. Oh, how I long to be with you again, pressing our bodies closer jusqu'a ce que la mort nous sApare.

la partie finale-le rdve

Give me your hand and we will face eternity together. ln our white dresses we laugh at the irony of the innocence and purity that has been stolen from us so long ago. Kiss my reddened lips and exult in our freedom. Smile and show me the dancing lights in your eyes. and be mine.

Whu G[or Lands OnlT* Mw^

Krlly Rsnlr

There are no rnvisible stars, only black holes, and gravity pulls dark babies out of its stomach.

lwatched an episode ofTheTyra Show one woman said that she would spit up

craters of earth, to not be so dark.

5o, she lightens her skin with creams. Doesn't want to be the only African American in her family, that doesn't look like a white swan

Says she's the ugly duck-in an oil spill. Scrubbing her pores

with Dawn, to un-flock her grip with DNA.

She prays to be light skinned

like her brother; find her way to the moon. Connect an umbilical cord to its core

and feed her children the whiteness. Teach them

to take the matrimony of bleach. Let it kiss their entire body,'till each little black toe

and round cheek, sucks lips with Clorox.

Her daughters are new moons. Atage 4and2, they're broken street lamps.

Wishing on shooting stars to be lit, or to be like their newborn sister, who is a yellow street light,

sitting in between the color of envy and their blood.

It4other bleaches their skin

Her son at 7 is a half moon. White cream burned on skin tuz he was born with the face of gray smoke.

He'd rather be at the tip of a cigarette, because at least when it dies out the ash might look white.

lwonder, if he becomes a full moon, will his tongue ever burn

the sun out of heat and confront their mother?

lf they will regret the galaxies of prejudice she orbited around her hips. lf people will ask them,

"WhereU your skin color go7"

Will someone ever bring them back to earth?

Tellthe mother, that even a white moon doesn't shine during the day,

because its shimmer comes from the beauty

of blackness.

ln the days of yore, when William ruled the land, An ugly hag would oft thrust out her hand And beg for gifts and treats and sweets and such, For nothing she was offered was too much. Short of stature, gray of hair she was Desplsed by the multitudes because Her very voice caused one and all to wince; A fouler visage ne'er has been seen since And yet the village sent its very own Dear children to be taught by this old crone She took away their toys with spiteful glee A meaner mistress never did one see 'Twas one thing only that she'd count as pay: That every child should bring a gift each day She favored many things but most of all Sweet edible delights would her enthrall So loathdd was she by the village young They oft would dream of cutting out her tongue But these were merely dreams until the day Young Festus strode right up to her to say,

Darc,y {hr3d"N

'We shall not submit further to your greed, It falls to me to carry out this deedl" He smote her smack across her smarmy smirk Upon this blow the hag did go berserk She wrapped her bony fingers'round his throat And as she squeezed she then began to gloat, "How dare you, Festus, question my demands? l've half a mind to use my own bare hands To strangle you in front of all your friends Unless you pledge rlght now to make amendsl Upon these words the children rose as one And towards her stash of goodies they did run Each grabbed a pudding, pie, or treacle tart And flung them at her, aiming for the heart ln shock, the hag screamed out in agony, "How dare you wretches throw my food at me?" And yet they did not cease to stone their foe, 'Twas fruitcake that did deal the final blowl And as with joy did toll the final bell They watched the hag descending into hell.

ks^A^YYI

falling, falling, falling, words planted in the darkness slowly grew strong with the nurturing care of wandering eyes and reassuring hands blossomed into an unknown flower petals were pampered by sweet tones leaves awash in moonlight contentment watered the delicate bloom the sun began its journey the hour much too early piercing rays of light tore holes through the leaves the petals began to change turning dark and brittle

falling, falling, falling

?"ona'/

3€ InildeAhatt

9 floors above A/ichigan Avenue Chicago's fringe vlsible in its entirety.

Bragging pictures on the wall, Neutral in the way that old photos are

Twin instruments, one familiar but one a mystery A desk both in and out of place. Where I learn to let myself out.

It seems like a routine even though I may have only been ten times.

It is a door to another world,

which, though I have no desire to enter, fascinates me.

nn-nD

0poet

A skeleton walks in. No, not a skeleton. A wolfman. Fearsome teeth and an even more fearsome wish For that sultry some-ringed terror. How I love it so.

Oh, Clarisse. lf you could see me now lf I could see me nowl I fear l've lost sight of how sad I am Distracted by the damned buzzing Of how happy I am.

But you can't! But you can't but you can't. For when your red ran faster than I thought Over your pale white, I knew You'd never see me again. Your looking glasses, so perfect blue Rolled back;They wanted for repose Repose is all I have within this sorry room.

Alexfrns

How the smoke rings bloom! How the colors Dance under speckled-crimson moon. I\4oon, no, that is your face! A face I covered forever In indigo disgrace.

Itly piped life runs out. I search for more, wheezing, desperately A rounded man comes on with a pout. 'You stupid poetlYou owe me morel" I stumble, flailing Right out of his cursed black door. No more,l scream, no more! That sorry plea l've heard before.

From you, oh lovely Clarisse? Or was it from me, Wrapped warm in opiate fleece? No more.