Category: Poetry
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Incendiary
I’ve seen birds die this way: half in the desert’s mouth, half out; stagnant air so hot every gasp requires a respirator pumping their beaks open shut. A bum on the train rocks: his eyes closed, shoes off gasping with that same desperation while fans malfunction overheating obligations to save him. Smelling sweat is the…
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A good girl is the solution, not the problem
I’ll always wear scars from playing with mom’s BiC razor in the bathtub. The blades stuck, almost organically, like running my fingers over ornamental wheat on her nightstand. I was never a cutter, just curious how something so precise could slice me the way divorce had or two different doorbells sounded like home, never knowing…
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Our Melissa
Our beautiful Melissa has part of her new memoir published in Parnassus – you can buy the current issue there, but here’s an excerpt taken from Little Star Journal: When it became apparent by my mid-twenties that I could not live by myself or in communal housing or anywhere except the hospital, I moved in…
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Coin Purse – video poem
Coin Purse from Rachel Van Blankenship on Vimeo. My latest video poem. It’s still in the works, I think, but I’ll figure out this whole movie making thing eventually… Enjoy!
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Lovebug
When a finch-sized moth flies onto a train, no one notices except a poet and a nurse working triage. STOP STOP STOP clicks a man with turrets. I reach for my bag STOP! and freeze while the moth turns tricks in the window like red light women in Amsterdam. My last airplane ride, a stowaway…
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Royalty
Remember me royalty in a dive bar New York City where everyone becomes someone and no one all at the same time
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"Love Story" Video Poem
Love Story from Rachel Van Blankenship on Vimeo. This is my first attempt at a video poem sans Claire. So hopefully as I do more, I’ll get better and HOPEFULLY I’ll get a real camera someday instead of having to use my phone, but this’ll do. I’m finding myself taking random little videos for no…
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Bastards
I had a dream last night a poet said “I know just what to do with your writing…” and that’s where the memory fades. Mysteries are never easy Dreams are never answers, but seeds. Too often I wake from sleep’s marathon unsure of the miles I’ve tracked my back aches, my knees, my heart Why…