FathomOnline

 

 Fathom 1999

Cover

 

Inside Cover

 

Poetry

jessica moore (2)
A. Zachary Wells (2)
E.M. Caine
Jessie Chalmers (2)
Jantine Saul
Maud Alexandra Arthur (2)
Erin Whitmore
Christine Squire (2)
Gina M. Granter (2)
Paul McPherson
c.a. ackland
Natalie Doiron
Jessica Henderson
Luke Dobek
Melanie Muise
paRvEDa
V. Combden
Catherine Roberts
Jenny A. Johnson
Steven Wendland

Prose

Steve Schimp

[PDF]

jessica moore

 

 

First Place -

Melissa

her fearlessness scares me,
the whirling way she moves through life –­
streets open to her like
red seas; the city welcomes her like
a guest of honour
chandeliers greet her in dark alleys.

she prowls streets
with the ease of a seasoned hunter –
stalking, pause
slow approach,
swift shot and a clean kill
people open to her
like shy flowers,
rough hands; beginnings are either
quick and sharp or
slow,
unfurling into theories, shared adventure.

she is weather, a wise woman
with no visible lines yet marking
a face that splits into a grin,
a mouth spitting out laughter and sarcasm.
her eyes reach for understanding
and she asks until she does.

when I’m in foreign places, in Taipei, in Vietnam,
among pungent market smells,
bananas and small pineapples in flat baskets,
people shouting strangeness and severing me
as stranger with their eyes,
I imagine what face hers would be
in my place.

I see her hair and back swaying,
her hands move slowly and she smiles easily, lazily,
meeting newness with open eyes,
face fresh as a green papaya.

the writer in her seeks
rainforests, bungalow motels with old seedy German owners,
hitchhikers and protesters,
movie sets and those who become the city’s characters
(she keeps running into the guy who collects bubbles­-
‘thought bubbles,’ he said)
murmurs and tales filter through her hair,
she collects stories, then
writes her own (until she runs out of paper)

 

Open

when asked ‘what do you want?’
I thought. I don’t know that I want to say it...
 
I want to be made beneficent
unimaginably benevolent,
imbued with graceless hues of giving
and giving
by the burgeoning beauty.

slow like sorrow, like rising snow
under this sky that breaks with the weight
of my feeling
and the weight of your eyes meeting mine

from where the sun immensified you
and then the shadow, petulant, heavy-pressed
with despair, was eclipsed
by the ocean that pressed
behind your eyes, broke
over my body where you stood behind,
engulfed, did not eclipse me,

(would I give you cause to forget the water?)

my back curved
head bent, spine against
the curving grey wall lined with others
waiting
to be opened,

I answered
‘I want to be in love.’

 

last updated August 17, 2007 | © 2007 Fathom Publishing
poetry, prose, and artwork © individual authours | website created by Alana Paul