The Zingara Project

Tag: Blueline

  • Loss by Sandy Feinstein

    I keep thinking I’ll be able to see in the dark,
    that moonrise or bright Venus will penetrate.
    Maybe if I wash the grit from the windows
    or open them in defiance of winter
    stars could burst through,
    shed light as they fall
    through earth’s indifferent atmosphere
    down, down down.

    Not so much as a flicker’s left for me
    from the arc of unplanned flights.
    Stars die out of the sun’s spotlight
    unremarked.
    Perhaps Palomar finds a skyful
    to name and number,
    mathematically account for each.

    Loss of a single light remains
    forever
    unmeasured,
    immeasurable.
    It’s not enough to know what stars do.

    —

    Sandy Feinstein’s poetry has appeared most recently in Maximum Tilt (2019); in the last three years, her work has appeared in Viator Project, Connecticut River Journal, Gyroscope, Colere, and Blueline, among others.

     

  • Predictable Patterns by Laurinda Lind

    I can’t stay centered on the winter solstice
    even in its most ancient aspect and certainly
    not its spendthrift one but when I was young,
    boxes of attic bulbs determined December

    along with trees that don’t belong inside
    and won’t stay up, but mean it isn’t always
    going to be this dark and cold, we’ll see
    ground again without snow. After years

    of take-apart trees and malevolent demented
    light strings I have failed in the Christmas
    category, either neglecting the tree till
    it shredded to the touch in April and could

    be scattered in the yard over leaves I never
    raked in the fall, or not putting one up at all
    so my daughter would come home from
    college and sigh and put it up herself, and

    once opened all my CDs. Stuck them on
    the branches where they shone silver like
    a Jetsons tree, assuming they would still
    have trees in that century, that the seasons

    will mean something after this terrible time
    where we are now, this dark we are not
    sure will take us through to spring, no
    matter how much tinsel we throw to it.
    —

    Laurinda Lind’s poems are in Another Chicago Magazine, Blue Earth Review, Blueline, Comstock Review, Constellations, Main Street Rag, and Paterson Literary Review; also anthologies Visiting Bob [Dylan] (New Rivers) and AFTERMATH (Radix). In 2018, she won the Keats-Shelley Prize for adult poetry and the New York State Fair poetry competition.