Karen Neuberg

Art & Poetry

I Look Up

 

Floating on water’s skin while tumbling in the underneath

 

amid undulating shadows and all of time’s weary repetitions,


 

I look up and call out sky, sky trying to reawaken its immensity

into awe once owned while our impossible world stutters across

a length of blue I long to cradle between my hands.

 

 

What I Was Wearing

 

I was wearing my mask,

thinking it gave me a party look.

It had a pasted smile and innocent

eyes. Even after the ball

dropped, shaking the land for years,

I flirted with those eyes, believing

they were mine & open.

What I took in during that time

has poured back out in stitches

binding my years into booklets

I look back into and read.

There I see the telltale signs

of what is in my face now.

The Distance From

 

The distance from just now

is a beaker filled with vapor

the color of once. There are no

turns. Or any straight lines.

 

What waits is both older and younger

than a forest of bristlecone pines.

After navigating around bent trees,

you come upon a clearing. A picnic

 

is laid out on your plaid baby blanket.

You want to stay, but find yourself

uninvited. Your exit is swift yet lingers

like the peal of chimes fading.

 

 

Catch Momentum

 

Catch the swift,

the leap, the all-out glamorous

speed, swinging

to and fro to propel

(you) forward, to jettison (you)

ahead of your usual

pace. Catch it coming from

an all out, all the rage,

your refrigerator

is stocked with ready-to-eat,

your house just cleaned

there’s nothing to interfere—

you can/you will

in the same time

it would usually take

to do nothing.

Karen Neuberg’s poems and collages appear in numerous journals including 805, Canary, Epigraph Magazine, and Verse Daily. Her latest chapbook is “the elephants are asking” (Glass Lyre Press, 2018). She lives in Brooklyn, New York. 

© 2018 by Azia Archer

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