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September 2010

September: Ravens

Gallery

Columns

  • Behind the Art:
    Ink Washes and Crosshatching
  • Artist Spotlight:
    Interview With Brenda Lyons
  • Wombat Droppings:
    On 23-Book Deals
  • EMG News:
    News for September
  • Ask an Artist:
    Colours Tests

    Features

  • Ravens

    Fiction

  • Poem: Asking Lenore How to Write
  • Fiction: Remaking The Raven
  • Fiction: The Messenger
  • Poem: When Raven Alights
  • Poem: Birdtale
  • Poem: Raven
  • Fiction: Oskela's Raven


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  • Asking Lenore How to Write
    by Kim Keith

    May I borrow your wing on the wind;
    I’d like a different perspective, a little yesterday,
    because the selection I have is too personal.
    Earth-bound and clumsy, freedom is feathered
    black against cotton and clairvoyance.
    To rat-a-tat messages with a Morse code beak
    along walls and windows
    maybe even a chamber door just to send
    paranoid delusions swarming into skies
    filled with blue and bruise and sleek glossy
    plumes beating the breeze with death
    or the life of your choosing.

    I long for that and all that comes tapping
    in sugary sprinkles lined with silver,
    turn eyes overhead at the forecast; no luck,
    no rain, no superfluous visions from above
    and still, I’m sprawling blind—nested too close
    to be rusty at eating seeds or worms
    (whichever is easier to swallow)
    any suggestion as to the preparation is welcome.
    Are you still there, my fire,

    still bleating under floorboards
    and making me sweat? Confess all,
    Tell-Tale:
    that I have murdered a bird, swept
    under rug way too many lint balls to justify
    or whatever the crime. May it haunt me
    in pencil shavings or you in hand cramps—
    both get curled up in the end
    on the last page: you, me
    and all that damned squawking.

    Can we just start over again, again, again
    because I’m just not getting it right.
    It looks like French curves swerving
    around the Corvus, fan-tailed or not.
    Please, help. Even if it means
    pecking my carrion fingers. Please.
    Let me bleed away the pulp
    and alight imagination.

    Kim Keith lives in Gold Canyon, Arizona in a four-cat-three-dog-two-ferret-one-teenager zoo; therefore, she would like to know what she would do with some free time. Her most recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Shine Literary Journal, Mad Swirl, The Houston Literary Review, Barrier Islands Review, High Coup Journal and Short, Fast, and Deadly. She thinks talking about herself in the third person is really creepy, but does it anyway.
    Would you like to support our contributors? As a subscriber, you could use your subscription fee to pay this author for their work, as well as receive lots of extra subscriber perks!



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