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Brittany Kay: February 2014

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Tuesday, February 4, 2014. By Dawn Lundy Martin. The contours of the girl blur. She is both becoming and fact. A rancor defines the split. Rip into. Flatten the depth of voice. That. Urgent flex peels off the steady layers. A girl, I say. Girl Gu-erl. Quell. He. He—unbuttons before emergence. As in yard rake pressed to roof of mouth. A fragrant rod. Insistence. Lips go lisp. Our brutish boy. Having not ever been whole. Or simple. Or young. Just split and open. What to know of what has never been?

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Brittany Kay: Adrienne Rich

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Friday, May 9, 2014. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Am I not among the early risers and the long-distance walkers? View my complete profile. Tiger in a jar. A Palestinian Poet writes about exile. Janet Smith - Southern Poetry Review. Simple template. Powered by Blogger.

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Brittany Kay: February 2013

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Tuesday, February 26, 2013. The deer this time of year are gray. I see them. Near the railroad tracks. What I like about them. Is how they flee at the first sign they are observed. But the one today is full-sized, on its side in the bar. Ditch, with a white belly, its neck bent, smudges. Of red in the snow like dropped handkerchiefs. I have been thinking about how often my students. Arrive at my office to show me poems they have written. How often they tell the background story, how they. In summer spill...

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Brittany Kay: November 2013

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Saturday, November 23, 2013. A poem by Vanessa Shanti Vernando. My feminism is not afraid of sex or secrets or. Living fully it is not a religion but a. Heightened way of seeing. My feminism does not dislike men but dislikes power. Wielded as a force, authority. My feminism is more complex than a girl-power. Bumper sticker it means it’s okay to masturbate. Initiate sex wear combat boots and dresses take. Up knitting or organize radically. My feminism is not detached gender-theorizing. Tiger in a jar.

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Brittany Kay: July 2014

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Sunday, July 20, 2014. This week I picked up The Kalahari Typing School For Men. The story of Mma Ramotswe, keeping her business afloat in Gaborone, Botswana. I sometimes feel like my visit there in college was just a short, passing dream. I will always remember the stillness, the smells, the sounds. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Am I not among the early risers and the long-distance walkers? View my complete profile. Tiger in a jar. Simple template. Powered by Blogger.

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Brittany Kay: Poem

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Saturday, January 17, 2015. This week, a 5 year old boy I know will leave Shelter. I will never forget him. Somewhere, beyond all that. Spins, a young man is standing. Motionless, not a ripple near. He can barely speak. About the altitude,. The time he lifted a boy in shards. From a jagged rock, tearing teeth. From his torso, placing a palm. Over the strange stare in his eyes. Mound by mound, they climbed. Around the edges of the canyon. To the very top. Never again to cower. January 20, 2015 at 12:21 PM.

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Brittany Kay: Violent Rooms

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Tuesday, February 4, 2014. By Dawn Lundy Martin. The contours of the girl blur. She is both becoming and fact. A rancor defines the split. Rip into. Flatten the depth of voice. That. Urgent flex peels off the steady layers. A girl, I say. Girl Gu-erl. Quell. He. He—unbuttons before emergence. As in yard rake pressed to roof of mouth. A fragrant rod. Insistence. Lips go lisp. Our brutish boy. Having not ever been whole. Or simple. Or young. Just split and open. What to know of what has never been?

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Brittany Kay: April 2012

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Thursday, April 12, 2012. 8220;I am grateful for all those dark years, even though in retrospect they seem like a long, bitter prayer that was answered finally.”. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Am I not among the early risers and the long-distance walkers? View my complete profile. Tiger in a jar. 8220;I am grateful for all those dark years, even thou. Simple template. Powered by Blogger.

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Brittany Kay: Janet Smith - Southern Poetry Review

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Tuesday, May 13, 2014. Janet Smith - Southern Poetry Review. As a child I sat on stiff chairs. And read. None belonged to me. I could be pushed out by someone. Larger. I owned nothing, not even. My face when a hand approached to. Lift the bangs from my eyes, not even. An unbroken hour. I planned to read. Every book in the children’s section. I began with A and read about. Some words had a flavor: zodiac,. Periwinkle, bracelet, savannah. They held a space I could breathe in. The laughing sounds like crying.

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Brittany Kay: September 2013

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Tuesday, September 10, 2013. A Cure of Souls, by Denise Levertov. Of grief and dreams. Guides his flock towards. With all his care. Are hungry and need. The grass, today and. His patience, his long. Shadow, the rippling. Sound of the flock moving. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Am I not among the early risers and the long-distance walkers? View my complete profile. Tiger in a jar. A Cure of Souls, by Denise Levertov. Simple template. Powered by Blogger.