Like Phantoms, and also

like revisiting an old friend living in LA before the summer, and they knew how to drive in order to get somewhere.

“Here and there, her poems are neat, sharp, beams of light, sunlight and soul-light. There is a hint of the Ginsberg, the Levertov and the Bukowski in the metaphysics she’s dealing with. She reaches amazing levels of passion, her words are even and precise and put together organically, creating startling and beautiful vistas of life—and by this I don’t mean she hews to the golden mean—she makes poems organically, she speaks her visions and meditations in the projective, in the space between bodies, in the space between the city, nature, and herself.”
—Albino Carillo

 

Phantom Limb

The way sunlight pounds through traffic to reach my body on the sidewalk—
this, this is always with me
and also
the snarling city cops looking for something to smash
and how they always find it
and also
the night noises: howling sirens, shouts, something breaking,
the coyotes up by the Hollywood sign—nobody’s babies
and also watching where I step, the growling citizenry, the sly smiles, the shrugs, the caution, the desperate
religion, the snorting busses, the cast-off shoe under the bus bench
and also
and also
Leaving my city—an amputation—a mistake of such egregious proportions
that the only rectification come in dreams
and also
and also
pungent sidewalks, unlit laundry room in my old apartment, roach baits to be purchased
every 60 days, my city, my love
A shrink told me once, “Contrary to popular mythology, people DO die of a broken heart.”
So it goes . . . so it is this grief of mine, this missing city
I want you even when I am with you.

by Martina Reisz Newberry

For more reviews about Martina and her writing go to:
http://martinanewberry.wordpress.com/reviews/

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