Scene: 12
Scene: 12 by Beth Cortez-Neavel Mom doesn’t know I know what it tastes like now. It tastes forbidden. It tastes exciting. It tastes like good
Author: Beth Cortez-Neavel
Proper Grammar
Proper Grammar by Beth Cortez-Neavel You said to me once that you didn’t like poetry. Music rearranges space and time, you said. It transcends language
Living Unitarian Universalist
Living Unitarian Universalist by Beth Cortez-Neavel This is how it begins, every time: whether I am at a potluck, a club, a bar, or with
Sex Like Space
Sex Like Space By Beth Cortez-Neavel I am floating in a constant orgasm I am come, and I am going insane. I am on the
To Have and To Hold
To Have and To Hold By Beth Cortez-Neavel I want to be there in the past to hold your hand like you have held mine,
7 a.m.
7 a.m. By Beth Cortez-Neavel Cities abiotic concrete-filtered sunlight hitting traffic jams through sky scrapers’ grids Barely a sidewalk without footprints left in chewed- up
Clouded Luminance
In the night moon’s glow
the corners of the world are tucked in
and folded down
and the stars vainly whisper
their secrets lost in street-lamp invitations:
Bloom
As he swept the dead leaves into a pile by the chain-link fence separating his house from mine the fall leaves continued to spiral down around him. He didn’t look up. He didn’t stop. He didn’t even acknowledge that they were ceaselessly dropping from the trees. He just kept sweeping in slow, small strokes.
I Have Still to Wash My Sheets
I Have Still to Wash My Sheets By Beth Cortez-Neavel I jump at the chance to be touched now. I need that physical that hateful
Ghost of Notes
a cadenza that flits
from petal
to pedal
tiptoeing on half steps of air
whole
whole
half
whole
whole
whole
half.