c o n v e r g e n c e:
an online journal of poetry & art



by Claudia Lamar

Let me give you this,
plus: a holy word & the last tequila shot,
this will be your desperado prayer,
you will never be missing, we never leave,
we are ghosts & grief,
smoke & stains,
something vulgar, please.
you should be an exhibitionist now,
ruin your hands red, show all your teeth,
& when the earth is spitting bones
& the spirits are rioting,
come haunt me,
I will love you like flowers.


by Claudia Lamar

Why I did it can't be translated,
   not from ancient tongues
or the humming noise you make in your sleep,
I was alone in the house & the sounds of spooking
& other subjects were silent, because when you leave,
      you take all my spirit with you,
& there was Jesus, hanging on our wall above our bed,
& he looked how I felt & I can say that now without shame,
      because I have been there: calvary & crucifix & back now,
I hunted for the hammer & I found it,
& then I grabbed him,
in the beginning I was just going to remove the nails,
   maybe bathe him in the bathroom sink, I imagined
   his porcelain skin & painted cuts bleeding into the water,
but his bones were too brittle & his left arm broke in half,
   I held his hand in my palm,
   the horror of his body still nailed to the cross,
I tried the other arm, gently grasping & pulling the hammer toward me,
      fast forward past the feet,
                     also wrecked,
to the moment you returned home & found in the sink,
a limbless Christ with band-aids on,
      & that's when I told you to never leave me again.


by Sophia Pandeya

electric tongue-sten a bulb in my mouth your
mouth where the roots go and go deep
as pale daikons in the sunless places a
sibilance of ploughs unfurling petulant
as I split earth furrows I am drowning in
my sleep
Sita disappeared in a frown her
god-husband and sons agape at the
gash before
the world began again
pendulous in thick of noon I was
twelve at upheaval's
peak and Gasherbrum appeared like
a mirage like a pause before
death perhaps the same
moment as repentance
would alight like a
moth upon your
eyes except now
thighs are
turbulence are thrust are
speaking at last the
lost chapters to the tumult of your skies

Got Keys by Tim Keane

Got Keys by Tim Keane

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