the poetry that matters

Megan Towey

Megan Towey is an undergraduate at Bard College in Annandale-on-Hudson, New York, where she is a double major in written arts and classical studies. Her poetry has previously appeared in Minarets, Cram Magazine, and several on-campus publications.




         is how I get processed
      out of her staticky poems

  when she wakes in a tree-womb
of elastic things being digested,

     a pulsating room of sparks
    blown up for a meager flame

    like her kinked stray hairs
         backlit by the morning;

      a methodical recollection,
            a stirring together

   of lime juice and basil seeds
          into carbonated water.




Things having to be returned to their transparency:

       / green mist-earth / knit
        atmosphere / fathomless
        blue-lavender / lights
        spun out from light

        are recalcitrance / and you
        are convergence

     & - a fingernail of summer
         - a melting of rain
         - a crown of flowers
         - a priest of sunsets

(beautiful? I love you, because. Zemi.
Zemi. are you beautiful because I love
you? Zemi?                                                 )

       I imagine this is what it's like to breathe sea foam
       over the Cliffs of Moher: hydration. absolution.
       To Rilke, it's a melody that floods over us
       when we have forgotten how to listen for it.
       I never could forget this: for how could I know
       my hand as both well and chasm? and how could I know
       time, a windstruck dimension, standing in her white street?

       We go on morning walks and Zemi
       laughs at everything I say. He

       wears it on a cord
       around his neck when he sleeps:

       my omphalos of rainwater,
       hyacinthine blossom on his chest,
       his bioluminescence tearing on the glass;

       beneath him, the city
       rumbles and the infinite

       When we go home to zero, what seraphic voice
       will declare so clear our unbecoming?

       The places Zemi has been to, again there
       he will go,

       bipolar god of
       flickering lights,

       saint amid rain
       and incongruence.



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                                                                                                        March 14, 2013