2sDay Poems Goes Native


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Geronimo by Mariah Hourihan

Geronimo’s Boots Leave Town
An Argument for NAGPRA
or Buyer Beware at Southeby’s

by Denise Low

I heard Geronimo’s boots left town
and his wife’s and daughter’s boots
went with them—a family of shoes.

They had lived silently in an artist’s
basement collection for years
safe, except for one flood.

Now they are for sale. The label says
“Geronimo bought cowboy boots
and threw away these moccasins.

They are fringed deer skin, knee-high.
Chiricahua. 1886.” In this leather
that Trickster made stories:

The time he cut off one wife’s nose
for fooling aroundimages2

The time he slipped off a mountain
when surrounded by the army

The time he shapeshifted
in a photographer’s studio.

He knew medicine that made him
invisible but just when they thought

he was finally gone he returned,
calm within a watermelon garden.

For his final trick he pretended
to lose his mind, the price

for all that power but instead
he was practicing how to stay alive

in all kinds of skins, first buckskin
and now—domesticated cowhide.


Codename Geronimo

by Tiffany Midge

In 2011 someone made an order, kill Geronimo;
soldiers dispatched by jet, by car, with orders to kill Geronimo.

The Brits had a new princess and Fergie’s daughters had silly hats
but the Royal wedding was eclipsed by the killing of Geronimo.

I heard about it on the radio; bin Laden’s been ratted out
living in a pleasant Pakistani suburb, KIA Geronimo.

He used his wives as shields; there is nothing about77874_original
that fact to cheer yet some did after killing Geronimo.

For tribal nations the namesake’s a hero, little doubt
occupy their minds as to the military’s code KIA Geronimo.

It’s just another cry for war without
restraint. Our hero wasn’t a terrorist, the real Geronimo

fought to protect homelands, way of life, I’d say devout,
feared perhaps but how many times should they kill Geronimo?


Sunday Sentence #14


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imagesMy weekly contribution to David Abrams’ “Sunday Sentence” project in which participants share the best sentence read during the past week “out of context and without commentary.”

I didn’t want to have such a totally conscious dialogue with whatever demon of storytelling was in me.

SOURCE:John Casey‘s essay collection Beyond the First Draft: The Art of Fiction


Ladies with Cats (2sday Poems)


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Paws with me a moment, friends, and enjoy these very different poems about ladies with cats:


by Marge Piercy

Mine, says the cat, putting out his paw of darkness.
My lover, my friend, my slave, my toy, says
the cat making on your chest his gesture of drawing
milk from his mother’s forgotten breasts.

Let us walk in the woods, says the cat.
I’ll teach you to read the tabloid of scents,images3
to fade into shadow, wait like a trap, to hunt.
Now I lay this plump warm mouse on your mat.

You feed me, I try to feed you, we are friends,
says the cat, although I am more equal than you.
Can you leap twenty times the height of your body?
Can you run up and down trees? Jump between roofs?

Let us rub our bodies together and talk of touch.
My emotions are pure as salt crystals and as hard.
My lusts glow like my eyes. I sing to you in the mornings
walking round and round your bed and into your face.

Come I will teach you to dance as naturally…

from Mars and Her Children



by Edward Field

It sometimes happens
that the woman you meet and fall in love with
is of that strange Transylvanian people
with an affinity for cats.

You take her to a restaurant, say, or a show,index
on an ordinary date, being attracted
by the glitter in her slitty eyes and her catlike walk,
and afterwards of course you take her in your arms
and she turns into a black panther
and bites you to death.

Or perhaps you are saved in the nick of time
and she is tormented by the knowledge of her tendency:
That she daren’t hug a man
unless she wants to risk clawing him up.

This puts you both in a difficult position,
panting lovers who are prevented from touching
not by bars but by circumstance:
You have terrible fights and say cruel things
for having the hots does not give you a sweet temper.

One night you are walking down a dark street…

from After the Fall: Poems Old & New

Sunday Sentence #13


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imagesMy weekly contribution to David Abrams’ “Sunday Sentence” project in which participants share the best sentence read during the past week “out of context and without commentary.”

Astronomers must also guard against selection effects, giving too much weight in their calculations to the stars, galaxies, and clusters that are easiest to see. 

SOURCE:George Johnson‘s Great Discoveries biography Miss Leavitt’s Stars: The Untold Story of the Woman Who Discovered How to Measure the Universe


2sDay Poems: Readings from Louisiana’s Current Poet Laureate


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Today’s poems come from Ava Leavell Haymon‘s award-winning, fairytale-inspired collection Why the House is Made of Gingerbread (LSU Press)

The Witch Has Told You a Story

You are food.
You are here for me
to eat. Fatten up,
and I will like you better.Your brother will be first,
you must wait your turn.
Feed him yourself, you willbk-jacket-Gingerbread-194x300
learn to do it. You will take him

eggs with yellow sauce, muffins
torn apart and leaking butter, fried meats
late in the morning, and always sweets
in a sticky parade from the kitchen.

His vigilance, an ice pick of hunger
pricking his insides, will melt
in the unctuous cream fillings.
He will forget. He will thank you

for it. His little finger stuck every day
through cracks in the bars
will grow sleek and round,
his hollow face swell…

Audio file of Haymon reading below (first link), followed by a discussion of the poem at NPR (second link)


Hear the full NPR interview below and a second podcast in which Haymon joins Julie Kane, the previous Louisiana Poet Laureate from 2011-2013, for The Poet and the Poem series* at the Library of Congress.


*Full catalog of available podcasts from the Library of Congress series here.

Sunday Sentence #12


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imagesMy weekly contribution to David Abrams’ “Sunday Sentence” project in which participants share the best sentence read during the past week “out of context and without commentary.”

As a child in a small town on Cook Inlet in Alaska, she saw volcanoes erupting, whales migrating, and icebergs looming at sea before she ever saw a skyscraper or what could properly be called architecture.

SOURCE:Alexis M. Smith‘s debut novel Glaciers (Tin House)


Explorations in Magical Realism


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from Polish painter Tomek Setowski‘s “Magical Realism” series

I first came to magical realism through Isabel Allende‘s absorbing novel The House of the Spirits, which features a haunting cast of star-crossed misfits, including the green-haired, golden-eyed ‘Rosa the beautiful’ and her strange, also clairvoyant, younger sister Clara. My paperback has endured so many readings that it has developed its own, almost biblical sheen. It remains one of my all-time favorite books and is definitely on my desert island list.

Recentlywww.randomhouse.com, I’ve fallen in love with the work of Karen Russell, whose skill with a sentence is breath-taking, both as a short story writer and a novelist.  If you haven’t become acquainted with her work just yet, click on over to this Sunday Sentence post for a delicious short from her collection St. Lucy’s Home for Girls Raised by Wolves.

Then tune up your ears for her fab Writer’s Workshop podcast over at Tin House, where she shares tips on building up impossible worlds and makes it sound easy.


Aimee Bendimageser also has some helpful craft tips and thougindexhts on the genre in an interview at The Bat Segundo Show. Your next must-listen is then Hold That Thought’s “A Conversation with Kelly Link and William McKelvy” hosted by Washington Univ.

Next, you’ll want to block off some time to wade through all the goodies at Zoe Brooks‘ Magical Realism blog. Besides a massive reading list with some reviews, she has Facebook & Goodreads groups and a kicking bloghop/linkup just begging for your perusal.


You might also want to read up on:

painting by Kevin Sloan

painting by “Magical Realist” artist Kevin Sloan

Magical Realism in YA       and

Trends in Middle-grade Magical Realism.

Also interesting is a 2012 blog project called A Year of Magical Reading in which Ted Gioia explores “non-realism” in fiction.


And last but not least, visit the Women on Writing (WOW) blog for a handy shortlist of resources, including links to books on craft and scholarship for those who want to delve deeper.


**Tell me about your favorite Magical Realism reads or share your resources and finds in the comments section. Love hearing from you.  Happy reading!!!!!




2sDays Poems: Getting Goochie With the Wolfies Under the Supermoon


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The Tlingit word for ‘wolf’ is gooch, and with the recent supermoon plastering the weekend skies, I thought it would be fun to share two of my favorite wolf poems, both from kick-a$$ poets (like top of the top ten of the poetry gods, no lie).

The first is from fellow Alaskan Native Mary TallMountain.images.duckduckgo.com


The last wolf hurried toward me
through the ruined city
and I heard his baying echoesindex
down the steep smashed warrens
of Montgomery Street and past
the ruby-crowned highrises
left standing
their lighted elevators useless

Passing the flicking red and green
of traffic signals
baying his way eastward
in the mystery of his wild…


from The Light on the Tent Wall


The second is from Latino poet Victor Hernández Cruz.



Her voice comes out of her knees,
her fingernails are full of sound,
Birds are in her lungs,
which gives her gargantuan flight,
A florescence through ether waves,
like ancestral Morse codes.
Oriente province de Cuba
her first steps.
At nineteen she dismantled retinas—
roosters blew themselves inside out,
When she swayed by cathedrals they folded,
guayacan trees fell to their knees,
Mountains bowed with the contents
for ajiaco.
She filled the horizon with kerchiefs,
gypsies danced behind her,
Her bracelets were snakes,
forces were captured in her…

from Maraca: New & Selected Poems


And for those Native American art lovers, enjoy oodles of Tlingit (and other tribal) art over at AlaskaNativeArtists.com, including this supercool carved gooch helmet:


Sunday Sentence #11


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imagesMy weekly contribution to David Abrams’ “Sunday Sentence” project in which participants share the best sentence read during the past week “out of context and without commentary.”

Because life should be as simple as a bucket of fish caught a few miles offshore and a van full of produce bought at a roadside stand; It should be as sweet as a cube of melon the color of your heart.

SOURCE:Natalie Baszile‘s debut novel Queen Sugar 



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