Tag: life (Page 7 of 7)

Benthic:

Definition- the flora and fauna found on the bottom, or in the bottom sediments, of a sea, lake, or other body of water

Poetry by Johanna Tollefson

Then a realization— Underwater plants need sunlight to breath,
                                                   just like any other plant. You might think

this is a metaphor, but it’s just a fact. A fact like in her fantasies,
they are both fish. Fish have fish problems. Every day is swim
                                                 or swim away. You might think

this is a metaphor, but it’s the truth. The ultra-violet rays of the sun
spear through waterbodies. Waterbodies is the correct term for all bodies
                                                of water, saline or fresh. Flowers and fish

are both easily killed off by phytoplankton. Phytoplankton accumulates,
grows thick in silty water, they are microscopic. In the scope of things
                                              what else is the absence of sun but the end?

What else is beginning but a breath of fresh air and you the fish? This is benthic
living— A root in the mud soil. A fish to clean the water air. A sun to breath
                                             light. And you, a metaphor for a rock at the bottom of a pond.


Johanna Tollefson is a writer of poetry, fiction, and nonfiction, currently getting her MFA from Minn State, Mankato. She is new to the Midwest, hailing from Idaho and Oregon, but is settling into the long winters and humid summers. She loves all things sensory and is also growing a recipe resume which she loves to use on guests.

A wind blew through

Poetry by Steve Gerson

Monday, September 23, Grand Chenier, LA,
hurricane season. The sky was the color of silk

coffin liners. The wind was heaving, bowing
and rising as mourners in prayer, quiet then

shrieking when wailing began. Palm leaves
outside the bedroom window startled

and calmed and woke and roiled.
I sat in the bedroom and watched the storm

unfold as bible pages turning from John’s
hearts untroubled and unafraid to Ecclesiastes’

dust returning to the ground. Fronds on the
wallpaper, once verdant, now grayed in the storm

shadows. The chandelier swayed in the house’s
torment, casting light flickers like candles snuffed.

She was still. Only her brown hair now pewter
quivered on the pillow, a stray breeze from the window,

the curtain shivering as the hurricane descended. Others
entered the room. We stood silent, our breaths held

in her breath denied. Our silence was as the hurricane’s
eye, tornadoes swirling around a dead center.


Steve Gerson writes poetry and flash about life’s dissonance and dynamism. He’s proud to have published in Panoplyzine, Route 7, Poets Reading the News, Crack the Spine, Montana Mouthful, the Decadent Review, Indolent, Rainbow Poems, Snapdragon, the Underwood Press, Wingless Dreamer, Gemini Ink, the Dillydoun Review, In Parentheses, and more. He’s proud to have published Once Planed Straight, a chapbook of prairie poems through Spartan Press.

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