[ <3 ] MOUNTAIN SSS777 | Maura M. Modeya

Image: Carles Rabada

[ <3 ] MOUNTAIN SSS777

My hand is stable, as is the light
Pry my fingers when clouds
———-7 ——–consume your face!
& my devotion unspoilt as clear
GlaSs, gutted against your palm
Pets slow

On the kitchen island you
——— suck my terror out
——— suck my burden
&——- feed me to the wall

Spinning in this moment when you’re
really gripping, ———– jagged wind
outside. Blue Steller’s Jay flits
——————-7 ——-windowside
[my] knuckles inside you. [!]

Will you risk what you want
to give me? —– Will you be so
——————- dangerously generous?

From a hard ringing you find my disbelief
thick as blood. It flows as a current
I cannot move against.

I trace you with ice
throw the cube to the floor.

And more, we travel up lightly, crest into
Top-pond idyllic, ——–breathleSsly
A feverish container: stints
between delirium, ——-all our desires.

A few small rocks, placed
—————————–on a knee.

[Remember the way we slept folded & beaming
& tethered, then woke to show you my
eyelashes] ——7 ——–There are few things
I say I must see through, ——– to act the horse
throw myself.

How to get to the bottom of it: never
What survives a whirlwind: your world / maybe mine


Maura M. Modeya is a poet, performer, and professor from Bemidji, MN. She’s the author of Only Interested in Everything, a poetry chapbook published by Meekling Press. Before heading west, she lived in Chicago where she focused on live performance, as well as producing oddity and storytelling shows. Their work interests include delirium, sapphic ritual, eco-dykedom, the poetics of disruption, and public visual disruption through wheat pasting, stickering, spray painting, with other DIY modes. Beyond the page, she has curated poetry wheat paste installations of her own work as well as community poetic collaborations as an act of street publication. They hold an MFA in writing and poetics from Naropa University in Boulder, CO where they currently teach.

Find her on insta @down2theponywire or at her monthly queer poetry open mics typically held at Town Hall Collaborative.

Three Poems | Kate MacAlister

Image: Quinton Coetzee

divine rites

don’t open your eyes yet
the want is ravaged and set alight
I will call your pain to me
name your beasts to do my bidding

call me back

to worship with wanton knees and eyes
nail my collarbones to the bedroom door
and drink from my bruised lips
a dream like this demands a hungered sacrifice

call me back

to your kingdom on this starless night
the rain so reckless in the shadows
let me dream of your trembling spine
and pry open your butterfly ribs

call me back

to plant moonflowers in your blood
they only bloom carefree in the dark
let me honour you with what remains
beyond skin and crushed days

call me back

to your bed, your voice drowns
out the world. Was it even real?
I just want to feel you – here and here.
all I touch is glass

still / again

christmas morning constellations traced on your skin / undressed / spilled / beneath
the quiver ing lashes and breathless light /enfolded below the midwinter dawn / so
stolen between  

the call of the day and the coffee /(do you want to go and see the worst of me?) /heaped
clothes on the  creaking floor / a tangible whisper in the curtains / the red farewell /stars
sighing in your image/  

and the resurrection of today/ sheltered twilight /can’t hide the embers mined in / the
dead of  night /still on my lips / I am still starving /my heart half eaten / still obsessed/with
what remains  

of the distant bedrock / the thunderwounds of yesterday / (do I not burn when
I bleed?)  I hold your hand/ through these hurting dreams to support their
weight/ still /again/  

we summoned and witnessed / an unspeakable trinity  
come / here / tonight /  

& the small Death  

(prayer is whatever you say on your knees) and if you can’t forgive what lurks
below the skin /  remember / I am fire-tongued and anointed by your touch
/deciphering the holy infliction  

of having been wild and perfect for a moment / (thirst to thirst) / surrender
now /  (your fingers in my hair / my mouth / covered in my blood) / hold
me / in this space  

we are rebuilding the universe / my words are the bare bones /  
painted with the colours  

you have  
shown me  

/ l o v e /  

this is how we retaliate / desecrate the decaying temple /with solemn lunar
devotions  feral laments / spellbound in the marked sheets / the unmade bed  

(I think we’d survive in the wild) 

all hallowed
to be read in case of emergency

we crossed this ocean /I lost the ground / the moon
drew me/in /my crimson tides /beckoning your hands
in red /on the mirroring surface / the light of early dawn

celestial bodies of water / on the fine shoreline before sleep
betroth my hands / to your breath/your elfin throat
vowing /gasping / on half of the dead stars
to be strange / to be beautiful / to be wild / to be/
open water

crashing on broken shells / blessed October sand
a litany / a siren song / an unchanging state of affairs
I am not going to hurt you /cannot resist the call of
continued disturbance and fractures on the wind

a tear bled / into black ink stains/blossoms / into a word
echoes into a constant dream yet untold /let’s send a postcard

some things are better on paper /some things are better
signed and sealed / in blood

When we share our stories, we realize that we are not alone with it. We begin to see the system that behind violence, injustice and exploitation. Telling our story is the connecting moment to take action and to initiate change.” Kate MacAlister (she/her) is an author, feminist activist and founder of the multilingual community arts and literature project Stimmen der Rebellion/Dengê Berxwedane/Voices of Rebellion. Her works have been published in journals and anthologies all over the world. Kate’s debut chapbook “songs of the blood” is filled with poetry that speaks of human connection and the dreams of revolution. Coffee, her cat Bella and, naturally, her activist friends are particularly important for her creative process. Find Kate on Instagram at @kissed.by_fire.