Thursday, January 30, 2014

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

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. 

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