Solid Quarter

Visit Trembling Pillow Press for poetry books, broadsides, chapbooks, and Solid Quarter Magazine.

Visit New Orleans Poetry Fest for the annual 4 day poetry festival directed by Bill Lavender and Megan Burns.

Megan Burns' Poeticsofbone&city project on Tumblr



Monday, May 03, 2021

All Mothers are Boats

 

All Mothers are Boats by Herbert Kearney


All Mothers are Boats 

-For Herbie Kearney

i.

Yes, and we stood four mothers 

In each direction tending the fire on the levee

Enclosed by stones set heavy

By one who loves you & gathered

Us to say good bye, howling

To the skies, rent by time 

You flew from us, twenty seven minutes, she says 

While she waited down the hall, machines silencing 

Angel number of compassion, “for god damn

Humanity” you’d say, is what it burns down to

Our hearts flung open by breaking 

The measure of any line is who is listening 

Benevolent light you called them, as they danced

Near you, ejected from the sensory deprivation tank 

You built - “a failed experiment” —naked and trembling, babe

Trying in one life to give birth continuously, and to know 

It is the work that matters

That the work will get done 


ii.

the shores we arrive upon are always strange

yet feel familiar, edge of water to land

beyond death you speak, let go of hope & hold

on to faith—this ship of the dead 

you gifted us, oh, we have gathered there for years

& said good bye to love that leaves too soon, & now, now



dreamer— we sing for you

                          shorn of suffering     new born 

    the truth that even temporary         the spark created here shifts

           the whole plane of manifested life    

                            the work we do alone is us 

                                            & trembles through the universe

                                            & none of us, none of us leave

           this threading 

                             without shaping the whole net   







 










Monday, April 12, 2021

Ghost Birthdays

 Ghost Birthdays

For Dylan Burns, 1985-2014


No matter what it is, there is nothing that cannot be done.

-The Book of the Samurai


you are waiting in a field

you don’t know who you are waiting for

but you know 

   when they arrive   the wholeness of your life

         will bloom

 

let me tell you what i’ve collected here: suicide

      is not the choice to die

but the power to shape the days of those who love

you, in ways irreparable

& what we take from abandon 

            lives on in us 

 

the weight of the world is grief 

       we cart around 

                                       loose nets of drawn time, we dip in 

cast as stars across the universe

         to sing sibling 

from the crux of design  the threads that carry 

 

us                never far 

 

travel inside the auto carriers of traversed city, my love, for

ever is a word we pull up on the tongue without context

 

so much here convinces you to survive you must be hard 

but this softness of our feral hearts, that drumming sound

ancient as the rock that floats us, this creature aspect 

of open your palm and grasp what is given 

this is how you swim

the length of any river in your passing: you take in

and you take in, the light bouncing off the surface blinding

& you, a miracle told into the story, without end 

Tuesday, March 23, 2021

Lincoln Beach





land you can almost access, broken 

fence to a dropping, you live

half forgotten, homestead to broken glass 

trimming the tree line, come upon 

to one end or the other 

a song strung on letters laid down over time

code so loud, the stars tremble against

like a caught throat universes

calling us home

beyond all we see, but familiar for anywhere

was safer than the land colonized here

the decibel of time speeds down, parallel

to this watched point, some violence sacred

whispering rush of traffic beyond a sea wall 

stacked on a levee never built to protect us

& how our dollars were swallowed 

by the poison they fed us—that there is never 

enough—when all there is—is enough

like a trap crabbed, beauty was our everyday

broken cars & half burnt down houses 

we photographed like family, wildflowers

by the rail in soft focus so you feel alive inside

this promise of death 

time came for us beyond labels stacked 

for every soul is spoken for, the length of it secrets

spoonfuls of close calls we warriored in spaces 

marked trespass inside the globe, snowed

some paint across gravel, marked names in time’s edging 

do you think they see the SOS of it but let us linger

some parenting by neglect can feel like love

if that’s all you get here—one circle at a time 

around the star that held us 









Tuesday, March 09, 2021

There is No Home



my life is channels of what i can survive 

a song composed of loneliness

all of this searching when you know 

you have to leave empty handed 

without sound, we watch love fold up like a wave

& crash into memory, how can you believe in what doesn’t hold

madness was just thinking you have a say 

you are an image viewed from very far away 

soft & out of focus

i am the silence that comes when i run out of language

to keep me safe 


if you can’t find your way out of a city 

is that the failure you churn into love 

& how many times will you tie yourself to a sinking ship

telling yourself being unmoored is worse

than drowning 

just about anyone can take you on a roof and make promises

they’ll never keep

you’ve heard this song a thousand times & the lyrics never change 





Wednesday, March 03, 2021

Snow Moon


New Orleans is a shipwreck masquerading as a city

it hovers, horizon of worn time

i would lay down in fields of warm settings & if the moon

says i need you, cresting the rooftops of abandon 

where we travel to be able to breathe & below sea level still

high enough up & you can see the whole bend in the river

ghost barges stirring up February fog round the edges of their cut paths

call & response from the next roof over, we’re all out here leaving 

something behind, write my name on it for a lifetime, for this life 

folded into you, the way some of us get left out of the picture 

crosses the choice that some of us leave on our own if love

isn’t what you think it is: You’ll never be as free as when 

you let go of all you think you’ve learned here

asphalt shingles held us to a gripping, if you want to be inside me

under that full moon, we need to be high enough 

that i can see my city, the way i tied my life to her

the way i could come up under her, a rushing of water

is where my life spooled out, a rushing of wanting to feel everything 

there are types of desire that undo you, then there are types of wanting 

that carry you far enough to find them— some of us live in the interstices 

knowing all of this is temporary, steal what you can carry  

plunder the rest 








Monday, February 01, 2021

Time is Always the Crossroad



in 15 days my brother dies again, time is illusory

disasters shape language, once we were water line 

now we are abandon of a season that shapes our survive

in 15 days, the city will be lost of traditions that float us shore

to shore, we who thrive in the chaos of undone for each day numbered

a costume, a song, the way we arrive at the river in droves and will 

you play for me, will you dance with me, have you ever hungered so much 

in your life for a city as i have hungered for her to be reborn, repeatedly

in 15 days we take the shape of mourning, i don’t know everything suicide 

can do yet, i don’t know everything loss can be, i don’t know if holding ‘

together is a possibility, but here we go out on this lonely flight of what else 

can we drop into those waters, palms painted morning light & for every death, 

some life clings to us, or else we would have to admit we can’t see 

at all. Can we admit it? Can we convince grief that timing matters, or is it true 

every song cannot be unsung, so deep in the threading, is the walk we take at dawn

from the house to the river, and my brother will be there walking from our mother’s house 

to our father’s where he will get the gun, will you lay me down to sleep, for every walking 

wake we keep, i am never alone now. Ever i am with you in time, we travel doubly bound 

find me near the shore on the morning of no Mardi Gras and i will show you how it looks  

to carry all of it, angel of break, to poet is to never heal completely, for i would hold 

until there is no shape, till the burns of time erase, the flood inside me sharp with learning 

in 15 days, ask me what it means to crossroad these deepest pains, for that too we sing. 

Monday, January 18, 2021

CRUMBS




For those that think they are monstrous, i speak for you
Uncanny we wade, so water a trembling sign for will you
                 uncaring in outcomes but i did want to be shattered 

You can’t have everything and they mean it when you find 
Having traveled far to seek some answers you end up inside the box 
                  Tell me what your wish is, little girl 

We have to suspend belief that beauty can love such horror show
But, birdy, we fly don’t we, when loved, when you get to be one
                  of the lucky ones 

You have to remember we come from this island of misfit 
It’s not like you can just locate New Orleans on a map 
                   inside you there is this breaking that never ends

I thought you could see me in all of this mess, inside this chaos
I fell a victim to this dream, that you spoke the words i choose 
                   Too and listen, little echo, little warbling chest space 

All my life has been less than, and less than that to hold on to
Try to bargain even now, let it be this last time to get it right somehow 
                   that merry go round moving so fast and you think what 

Is real in a movie about our future selves, plastic trinkets pawned to history 
We of the B sides, the news bytes, the recycling data of gossip 
                   Tell me what am i surviving since love is off the table 

Whatever darkness darkens, and i am there. Wherever fate is forgotten, waves
Lap from memory and it is a thing they do, like us continuing, as if we should
                    Time takes us anyway so what matter you chose never to try 

Is it true, if no one wants to hold on to you
You fly away, in one’s city, broken apart, is it true really
                     That you never really cared at all if i was here with you