ISSN: 1941-4137
POETRY THAT ENACTS THE ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE PURITY OF GLASS
POETRY THAT ENACTS THE ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE PURITY OF GLASS
Jen Stein is a writer, advocate, mother and finder of lost things in Fairfax, Virginia. Her experience as an advocate, with PTSD and fibromyalgia, and with the continuing process of healing and reinvention informs much of her writing. She studied Creative Writing at George Mason University, and is assistant editor for Rogue Agent Journal. Her work has recently appeared in Deaf Poets Society, Cider Press Review, Menacing Hedge, Luna Luna Magazine, and Nonbinary Review, and is featured in a micro-collection in Wood Becomes Bone, a series by ELJ Publications, 2015.
It was library quiet
It was library quiet —
where the librarians all had crickets for mouths
the crickets were dead gooseberries
my breathing our breathing
a book where the cover was a mirror
two books with beaded fingers
three books with mouths agape
four books with rooms where their pages should be
in the pages, vines — in the vines
hands though the vines were hands themselves
not cradling hands hands that pull
you up the staircase by your hair
vines that puppet you into contorted shapes
they put your pelvis above your clavicle
they make your back break into carnival glass
you are not cotton candy and these
are not your shelves
fifth books had words the constitution only written
in the language of oppression
where there is a yes but the yes
is not for you the yes is not for the vine people
the yes is for the growers of vine
the gardeners of the damned
the prisoners of the disciple
the people whose ankles are bound
though the vines might be soft
they might feel like buttersilk
they might spin around your waist
as though you were dancing
only you're not dancing
you've never been dancing
beneath your feet the words:
promise / obey / promise / obey
the sixth book has a child's face
the child's face is sewn shut
eyes sewn shut lips sewn open
the child can't even elect
to stop screaming but the voice — the voice
where did the voice come from the voice
is a thousand edged sword the blade is a blade
not of you but of mince minced word minced librarian hair
why is there hair why here
it's not hair it's soft black vines with their whispers
come come come why then did you put me
in this book these vines they encircle my spine
we are all marionettes here.
I've been working on a series of poems and related art pieces that deal with the hallucinations I have upon falling asleep. They're called hypnogogic hallucinations, and I can be trapped in this half-dream state for what feels like an eternity. By giving these hallucinations the kind of mindfulness I give other subjects, I am able to make them less frightening, and to help others see what it's like to be in this state. I also can sometimes tap into what's causing the hallucinations, which is really useful/interesting, too.
Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.
All contents © the author.
