New Poetry: Potatoes, Peaches and Toasted Marshmallows

Three new poems for you from Holly Day, F.J. Bergmann, and Anton Rose and, while all three works contain food references, the underlying darker, dystopian tone ensures these are certainly not recipes for happy meals!


​The Light
by Holly Day

We wait for the bombs to feel us out
pass the potatoes, say grace over the odd angels
that have watched over us for years
through the stained-glass windows of old churches
through the eyes of Orthodox iconography. This is a moment of peace
that will never come again.

Through the windows, the strength of distant concussions
fold trees in half, take grain silos and snap power lines. 
We turn up the gas, clear the dinner table
I put a knife in your hand, just in case.

The sky grows as dark as if seen through closed eyes
windows shake and fly apart. Hands
over their eyes, I stretch out next to the children
tell them it’s just the sound of His voice, there’s nothing 
to be afraid of, it’ll all work out in the end. 

* Holly Day has taught writing classes at the Loft Literary Center in Minnesota, since 2000. Her poetry has recently appeared in Oyez Review, SLAB, and Gargoyle, while her newest poetry book, Ugly Girl, just came out from Shoe Music Press.


Nature Morte
by F.J. Bergmann

Sweetness precedes
the underlying malignancy: 
bruises on dead-ripe peaches; 
liquescent orchids seeping 
into the unread note 
ending Sorry Love You Baby;
leaves before they fall
golden in dying light.

* F.J. Bergmann writes poetry and speculative fiction, often simultaneously, appearing in Dreams and Nightmares, New Myths, On Spec, Quantum Realities, Silver Blade, and a bunch of literary journals that should have known better. The editor of Star*Line, the journal of the Science Fiction Poetry Association, and poetry editor of Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, she frequents Wisconsin and fibitz.com


Dinner for Two
by Anton Rose

We gave ourselves two minutes each
like supermarket sweep;
you, ever the optimist
ran straight for the sweets
while I retreated
to tins of apricots and corned beef.
 
You came back smiling, a half-eaten
bag of marshmallows
clutched in your hands.
We found one of the fires outside,
used a car aerial for toasting,
tried to remember some old songs.
 
After dinner we watched the stars –
below them, on the horizon,
saw another explosion
so we played our favourite game:
held hands, closed our eyes,
pretended it was over.

* Anton Rose lives in Durham (UK) with his wife and their dog. He writes fiction and poetry, and his work has appeared in a number of print and online journals. Find him at antonrose.com or @antonjrose