Issue 7.3 – Poetry

Issue 7 - Poetry (2)


I am a little girl

kicking suns

I am an old woman

sitting in a pool of laughs

I am the sun

coming up every day

to harden your heart


There’s a call to arms

in all our red glass mouths

white hot dripping glass

blown by some kind of

angelic thing



in the shape of

a call to arms

in all our red glass mouths


Sometimes mothers don’t love their children


Sometimes the sun is not here to warm us


Sometimes you kick whatever you can


Sometimes you find a warm seed

inside your chest glowing

brighter each time you kick


Sometimes you remember

our mothers felt us all kick

and they glowed.


20770429_10108505937125699_4376679769573740222_nJoanna Kurimsky is originally from New Jersey, where, despite the proximity of the sea, she suffered over a decade of writer’s block.  Currently living in Portland, OR, she is finding her voice again, as well as banging away on an old typewriter, making jewelry and crafts, walking dogs, petting cats, and learning to play guitar.  She finally bought a real raincoat and expects it will change her life significantly. Joanna would like to acknowledge her creative buddies at NoPoSpoWo for their kind words and mind melding. Connect with her online and on Twitter: @mojopineapple

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