Tuesday poem #678 : Gage Michael Wheatley : Anatomy of a Lotus Eater

 

I think there should be flowers
and my arms
should end in petals
the right mix
of forget-me-nots
and kink
fingers to swarm
my rosy skin,
peachy ass. Roots
embedded into
cotton sheets.
A charming biography
of a boy
who lost track
of his body
somewhere
in the aughts.
My stomach is where I hid
the lotuses,
where they pull me
to my core.
My fingers tangle
when I
reach
for the sun.
The earthy peat
feels colder
than I remember,
like an absent parent.
I think there should be flowers
in my skin pricking,
plucking
and staining my sides,
but it seems there are far
fewer
than there used to be.

 

 

 

 

Based in Montreal/Tiohtià:ke, Gage Michael Wheatley's interdisciplinary practice weaves together poetry, ceramics, and photography. They build on a queer aesthetic of playful art-making to explore how we relate to history, myth, and the world around us. Gage’s practice is a quiet inquiry into the space where discarded things become treasures. Their work has appeared in CV2, carte blanche, yolk, and Headlight Anthology, among others.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

 

Tuesday poem #677 : Emilie Lafleur : UNTITLED

 

 

On any given afternoon I could burn

Through the afternoon

Totality is as lightless as it should be

I resented losing my claim to the sidewalk

I wandered around and repeated

Colourless in my head       I flashed

Partial gold plate

I remembered myself flatter                   All one tone

Or beside something and facing away from it

And yet some people are moved to such

Descriptions that when the light really

Changed                 I was counting it

 

 

 

 

 

Emilie Lafleur is a writer from Montreal. She holds an MA in English and Creative Writing from Concordia University, and her poetry has appeared online and in print in The Void, Expat Press, Fellow Travellers, Metatron, Vallum, Usurpator, and The End, among others. She is the 2024-25 recipient of the Susan Jeanne Briscoe Fellowship for experimental writing by women and is currently working on a project about the poetics of conspiracism.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

Tuesday poem #676 : Misha Solomon : Aubade with a Shorkie in the Bed Between Us

 

Early light comes
through the blinds
unreplaced by
the blackout shades
we said but didn't buy
we said we'd
never have the dog
in bed but here
he is a sighing curl.
I reach my arm
over him to rub
my lover's arm
an arm that holds
my lover's phone
a phone filled
with bad news.
We said we'd say
no phones in bed
but here's
the arm I rub
he and the dog
notice my arm
in tandem he smiles
the dog licks
my elbow. We said
the dog would
kill the bed
but with a gentle
shove the dog's asleep
at our feet my arm
unlicked but roaming
searching for
the early heat.

 

 

 

Misha Solomon is a homosexual poet in and of Tiohtià:ke/Montréal. He is the author of two chapbooks, FLORALS (above/ground press, 2020) and Full Sentences (Turret House Press, 2022), and his work has recently appeared in Best Canadian Poetry, Arc Poetry Magazine, Geist, The Malahat Review, The New Quarterly, and Riddle Fence. His debut full-length collection, My Great-Grandfather Danced Ballet, is out this month with Brick Books. He is currently a student in Concordia University’s Interdisciplinary Humanities PhD program.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan