i remember Bernadette by Andrew Macy

she writes a letter with a smile and a ribbon in her hair
to the nurse across the sea.

she writes ' i want to meet you Grace.
we will get along like quills and ink
and you can tell me all about 
the way you used to sing to dying soldiers
and that time the orphan saved you from drowning.'

and she thinks to herself
'it's as if things change so quickly
you don't even have time to
as if things change so quickly you don't even have time.'

she writes 'well Grace, 
there was salt in the air that day
and the slight sting on my dry lips
from the juice of the orange felt good.

the boys had followed the dog path
away from shore
and into the forest,
hunting the great beast.

i turned to bernadette,
the blood on her face nearly dry in the sun
and in response to something she said,
i replied,
''i'll leave my impressions with the moments that made them
and i won't remember this."

but o grace,
mine is a small grief among the trees.'



This poem is featured as a haunting, spoken word track on the new Silian Rail album, which you can stream here

Confessions of a Careless Weight Watcher by Michele Martuscello

Way back in 2005, I decided to try Weight Watchers in an attempt to be skinnier than my bestie, Brittany, before prom. This is how I went about it:

Chelsey and I were working at an after school program at the Elementary School for most of our senior year. One of the more brutish mothers, kept coming in and updating me on her Weight Watchers progress. I don't remember her name, but I do remember she was Albanian and loved me because I am of Albanian descent. Anyway, without knowing I was on the a quest to shed a few, she suggested I try Weight Watchers when she might as well have said "you're fat, do this to lose weight." She lent me her little book of points and spells and I attempted to read some of it.

Okay... knowing me I didn't read any of it and just looked at the page where it said 'start' and 'points per day'. After carefully calculating how many points I could have, I came up with the number 36. After two weeks with NO progress what so ever, I turned to some of my aunts and grandmother at our mandatory Sunday family brunch (pure NY guido-ness), knowing that most middle aged women from Long Island have taken a stab at Weight Watchers at some point in their life. After telling my tale to my Aunt Allison, she asked me how many points I was ingesting per day and to show her the book. Apparently, I should have read the book because I was consuming the point value of a pregnant woman in her third trimester  which was about 10-12 points higher than the average NON pregnant female of my weight/height. Moral of the story: Read everything, always. Weight Watchers isn't for everybody, starving and/or exercise is way easier.






Michele failed at following instructions but now she succeeds in selling sea salt

Samsaraholics Anonymous by Dirk Schmidt


Samsaraholics Anonymous is an Eight-Step Program; The only requirement for membership is the aspiration for the cessation of suffering.
 
Nearly 100% of the population may be suffering from samsaraholism - in the home, on the job, or on the highway. As S.A. sees it, samsaraholism is an illness. Samsaraholics cannot control their cravings for their objects of attachment, because they are ill in their bodies and their minds. If they do not stop craving, their samsaraholism almost always gets worse. 
 
What are the Symptoms?
 
Not all samsaraholics have the same symptoms, but many show these signs: They often want "just one more" embodied existence at the end of any given lifetime; they look forward to occasions of any sort, and think about them a lot (in a non-equanimous way); they get re-born when they had not planned to; they try to control their samsara by changing religions or significant others; they lie about their impermanence (to themselves and others); they ignorantly crave embodied existence at work, or alone; they have blackouts, where they can't remember the next lifetime what they said, or did, in the lifetime before.
 
How does Samsaraholics Anonymous help?
 
Through the example and friendship of the qualified 8-step leader and the support from groups of recovering samsaraholics, new members are encouraged to stay away from the objects of attachment "one kalpa at a time." Instead of "swearing off since beginningless time" or worrying about whether they will be enlightened spontaneously, members of samsaraholics anonymous concentrate on not craving right "now" - in this exceedingly brief, instantaneous moment (which elapses in a mere fraction of the blink of an eye, or a flash of lightning). But remember, there is another part to getting well and staying non-attached, which is cultivating a mind free from clinging. So they begin to straighten out their confused thinking and unhappy feelings by following Samsaraholics Anonymous' "Eight Steps" to recovery. These steps suggests ideas and actions that can guide samsaraholics toward happy, non-fabricated, unconditioned realization of the ultimate truth of existence. 
 
Who belongs to Samsaraholics Anonymous?
 
Like any other sickness, old age, or death, samsaraholism strikes at all sorts of beings, human and non-human alike. So the members of Samsaraholics Anonymous are of all races, nationalities, religions, and species. They are rich and poor and just average. They work at all occupations, as lawyers and housewives, teachers and truckdrivers, hungry ghosts and jealous gods, predators and prey, sky-goers and smell-eaters, and so on. In fact, they have been comprised of just about any and all sentient beings, without exception, since beginningless time... 


read more from Dirk here

Leather by Kimberly Phan

that tree hanging up in my new room 
same one hanging from your rearview mirror
emanates the smell of you 
of home, of drives, of tight lips,
moments of quiet.
it lulls the pit of my stomache
flashing alternately between
dream and memory
hate and sympathy

and now so far away
separated by airplanes
airwaves and time change
i feel it letting go
feel less of the hold
but it doesn't mean that it was nothing
just means that it was something grand
and aching, sweet and savory
when it was what it was
and it was.

Squirrel Feet by Jason Stocks




      The deep of
      the waters edge
      is cold and black.
      Mark Keen's telling me to jump

mice munching cables
during xmas
cheeer, yanks
me back.

Eggnog bubble
in the nostrils   from waxy cup in Mrs. Goodman's first grade
from over drink,    itchy sweater,loose tooth
someone's on the roof, squirrel feet   never what I ever want

big floppy eraser-burn-out
soft spot smell    ,left at school   alone with big pencil    and big lonely   (SEASONS CHANGE TO
SPOOK   .and remind that you don't know me anymore
or hold my hand.  People love turtles

they try and      i don't know
save em from
hot pavement and distracted drivers
but put em right back where they started

sometimes turtles pee on people
sshsh I hear it too.  It's just hogs rootin' around
I guess I understand it    don't you .

Galapagos Cakes by Vanessa Maida

2 lb. yukon gold potatoes
2 cloves garlic
1 yellow onion
1 t. cumin
1 cup shredded jack cheeese

peel, cut, and boil potatoes
until tender. while potatoes cook,
sautee garlic and onion. season with
salt, pepper, and cumin then
transfer to a medium bowl. add potatoes
and shredded cheese....

Mash it all together then form
into patties and fry in olive oil
until crispy on each side.

untitled by Philip Radiotes

this is a poem about the time
we saw a terrible band
that we thought was great
"saves the day"
they played in an "underground" club

back before we knew underground
means shitty most of the time
we really thought they were great
maybe they are
or maybe it was because
we were all there
randy's mom let him borrow the car
and it was before tim and randy's brother
stopped talking to each other
and we were practicing in my garage
with the old line up
when randy's brother played drums
and tim's hair was green
i paid someone about 16 dollars to get us a pack of marlboro reds
that night

yeah
wow
seriously
we thought "saves the day" was awesome
as we and the posers went cussing through the streets
back to the car
with a bunch of posters in our hands

untitled by Kevin Estrada

o maybe a spider
that bit me
at night
when i awake
at 3:03
at first to an itch
i think is nothing
then scratchscratchscratch
could be a rash?
it warms with his-
tamine, my blood
is invaded
the bump has a pulse
of its own