Two Poems from Your Editor, A.J. Huffman

In Discernible Seclusion

You continue to hurt me.
With the sheer presence
of your [in]consistent absence.
I cannot stand the sight
of your memory.  I long too much
to hold the idea of you[r return].
I blink
and I am shattered again[st
your wall-like silence].  I imagine
your lips moving.  Their intentional
tones, not meant for me.  I look
farther back.  Behind your eyes.
I cannot see myself in their reflection.
And I remember.  You
never chose to let me inside.

Your Penis Made You Do It

You could not control it, you tried, but

it would not listen to reason, drained

all the blood from your head.  You blacked out,

woke with that blonde in your bed, had no idea

where she came from.  You think I should

understand, forgive you for its mistake.

I don’t.  I am not impressed

by you or it.  An erection is not monumental

in my eyes.  I do not mythologize it

the way you do, the way you want me

to.  I have no desire to build a temple around it,

flat out refuse to sacrifice my self

respect in its honor.  You continue

your misogynistic diatribe, hoping

to charm me into swallowing something,

maybe even my pride.  I eventually submit,

fall into resignation, finally accept all you have

to offer is the truth:  you are truly sorry

(though I prefer the term pathetic).  I slam

the door and my mind shut as I leave.  Thoughts

of you echo momentarily before fading

into the forgettable pile of my other past

mistakes.

A.J. Huffman has published seven solo chapbooks and one joint chapbook through various small presses.  She is a Pushcart Prize nominee, and the winner of the 2012 Promise of Light Haiku Contest.  Her poetry, fiction, and haiku have appeared in hundreds of national and international journals, including Labletter, The James Dickey Review, Bone Orchard, EgoPHobia, Kritya, and Offerta Speciale, in which her work appeared in both English and Italian translation.  She is also the founding editor of Kind of a Hurricane Press.  www.kindofahurricanepress.com