Wednesday, July 16, 2014

A Poem by Tejan Green Waszak

Distant Dreamers

This bridge crumbles behind me
as I race swiftly to the other side
No time to look back
though in my haste
I dare
to look down at the water
and imagine
a more
honorable battle
ending in the belly of a mammal
whose respect I’ve gained
for my tireless effort
though tragically
this will
in the body
of one with more might
may have a different
I am no match for you
In this complicated game
there is no end
and you are receding
Further and further
some force pushes you out
into the dark
night on night skin
the air
salty suffocation
Mouth agape
requesting answers
there are none
You never dare ask
rejection is looming
You are slipping away
In the silence
your face shines brilliantly
for a moment
there is pleasure
a chance
to study you
In another city we could be strangers
we are innocent
Your noble face
could go quite far
in another place
Tejan Green Waszak is a New York based writer, educator and doctoral student. She received an MFA in Creative  Writing from Long Island University and a BA in Journalism from Hunter College. She can often be found consulting with writers about their work in the writing center of Columbia University.

Monday, July 14, 2014

A Poem by Catherine Weiss

I used to love the tides,
The taste of chilled salt air,
And the granite boulders scattered along the shoreline
Like dice cast in a glacial game of craps.
But there came a morning when
I looked for the ocean and I saw nothing but
Miles of seaweed shining in the sun,
I picked my way down the slope past the low tide mark
Where I swam the week before,
Now stepping carefully rock to rock.
A mackerel flapped at my feet,
The smacking sound too loud.
I stood with the fish
Until it was still.
“You disgust me,”
He said on the last night we spent together.
I sat on the floor and did not cry.
Later, the apology swooped in like a vaudeville hook,
But true things linger.
Tectonic plates drag apart
So slowly.
Solid rock splits unnoticed until
Continents are separated by an ocean
So vast the far coast is
The sun was hot and
The fish was dead.
Pebbles and silt underfoot
Warm and sharp,
Black grit between my toes.
I could hear the armored legs of a crab
Tottering towards the trench ahead.
It disappeared over the edge
And I followed.
Climbing down the cliffside,
Hand over hand,
The wall slick,
Damp algae underneath my fingernails.
The abyss was drained of sea-water and
The fall, when it came, was infinite.
Catherine Weiss is a poet and author living in Northampton, MA.  In her spare time she enjoys ping pong, monopoly, and audiobooks.  Her website with more info can be found at