7-poetry

Mass in Harlem by Stelios Mormoris

I heard the news in a taxi cab
so I went straight to mass
in Harlem, where you were born,

Margarita Zitis, before the war.
By 116th Street, I knew you were 
dead, but could see you shopping

across the median on Broadway…

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Statistically Speaking by Emdash,
AKA Emily Lu Gao

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Your Name by Tamara Nasution

The perfect three-syllable word in a sensual
              curve of six alphabets: azalea, chakra,
tundra. It means nothing in your language and
              everything in mine….

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For Me–Desideratum by Amy S. Lerman

I carry it like an Epipen, this phrase that’s zippered
into my purse pocket, a graduate class residual
extracted only when no transliteration or alternate 
diction works. What patience these two, gray-blue 
words have evinced, sentenced at times to years 
of dormancy, like the too-heavy-to use crystal… 

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