3 Poems by Violet Mitchell
Upon Considering Waiting as Circular Movement
after Frank O’hara
The way we graduated based
on suns
& order the same
salad every time
A shadow drawing negative
space with
a gray crayon
All I can say is this house
uses electricity
to strike, share fire
with humans, mortals
invested in
misinterpreted hands
Ask for the news highlights
again
the full forecast:
wholesale,
organic
sentimental yellow,
intrinsic red
trims the bathroom door
When handles were invented
it was customary to
kiss it before it
first became a border
A studio,
A room
this is my traffic
I left rubber
out of the recipe
had I considered
texture?
Your First Gift Is Making Stone Out of Everything
We have time to dig the gods, break their necks on the sidewalk. People & stars regard me with pity
& a chin nod. I used to think the Bible was made of stone tablets, that Moses printed a first edition
with his knuckles. The pressure of a smile creates a breeze, a hem between two brains. Hello, one
says. You have no idea, says the other. The pebble in the boot wonders, Did I escape?
Sometimes the Moon is Missing
A bird falling like an elegant
bullet. The poppies red
enough to notice, red like winter
table runners. My teacher gave
me feedback, said, keep it
simple. Since when have
humans ever kept it
simple. Even loading laundry
needs a manual. Like being
caught in thunder, in branches—
I have never kept it simple.
Dissociation is American.
Disposal is Human. I say
human like I’m not. Maybe
I am interested in red &
syllables because I am, in fact,
not disposable. I am a citizen
of doubt & greed, buying
what makes me feel
less selfish. Selfish is Human.
I wonder sometimes what kind
of world it would be if humans
were hunted. If we were not the
top of the chain link fence. If
we did not manifest problems,
pretending they were solutions.
Feedback. Reminds me of
regurgitation. Feeding food
back to the baby bird. The
baby bullet in training. I bet
birds love their aerial view.
The shading & whistle
to the scribbles of snow over
rocks. I know I would love
that view. Me, as an alien,
seems to know more than
me, as a bird. Would I as
a bird want to escape then,
I wonder?
Violet Mitchell is a Denver-based writer and artist. She is earned a B.A S. in cognitive literary studies and is working towards an MFA in creative writing in poetry, both from Regis University. Her work has been published in Loophole, Flourishing, Across the Canyon, Who's Who, Sixfold, ANGLES, Furrow Magazine, and several other journals. She received the Robert A. O'Sullivan, S.J. Memorial Award for Excellence in Writing in 2019 for her dedication to creativity and her art.