Ann Arbor Review

INSIDE THIS ISSUE:

Amit Parmessur
Elisavietta Ritchie
Donal Mahoney
Fahredin Shehu
Richard Kostelanetz
Alex Ferde
Michelle Bailat-Jones
Duane Locke
Chris Lord
Nahshon Cook
Al Ortelani
Shutta Crum
Ajibola Tolase
Silvia Scheibli
Laszlo Slomovits
Emmanuel Samson
Lyn Lifshin
Running Cub
Nikita Parik

Alan Britt
John Grey
Bhisma Upreti
Paul B. Roth
Jennifer Burd
Sunday Michael
Michael H. Brownstein
Burd
Ali Znaidi

Richard Gartee
Kanev Peycho

Engjell I. Berisha

Fred Wolven
Petraq Risto
Carolyn Elias
Alabi Oyedeji




Ann Arbor Review

is an independent

International Journal & ezine

Copyright (c) 2015 Francis Ferde
All rights revert back to each poet.
--editor / Southeastern Florida
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AAR history note:  in print 1967 - 1980.  Irregular publications 1980 - 2004.  As ezine 2004 - present. Most of 47 years all together....

------------------------------------------------

staff:
Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven
 

Submissions via e-mail:

poetfred@att.net

 

THE HOSPITAL

Across the hall lives a girl
or a boy, it doesn’t know which.
It keeps a bottle of gin under the bed
and late after we are all supposed to be asleep
it drinks while writing long novels
about people who look into a mirror
and know who is looking back.

Down the hall lives a happy girl
with a bright pink bed spread
and shelves full of book
about raped princesses
just like her.
As she walks around her room
little scraps of paper fall from her pocket
like tiny snowflakes
from a frozen, broken heart.

At the far end of the hospital lives a stout, black beauty
who wishes for long blond locks like her mother.
When her eye sees
her nakedness
she gets blinding headaches and goes to bed.
I crawl under the blankets too;
we watch Laurence Olivier on her tiny TV screen
to berate disfigured Calaban,
who is just like us.

After a long day of masquerade
I go to my room, lock the door,
and crawl beneath my desk,
to wail my dying, my swan song:
a good night lullaby to my friends.

These sad, sick women
pluck my painful secrets and hide
them away, high, on a closet shelf
so I can sleep in peace.

 

 

Carolyn D. Elias, Hancock, Minnesota

 

 


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