Elizabeth Langley, CM

“Juggling” by Emma Beltran

Juggling on the verge
she survives
embracing herself
inescapable
tied to her feet
in a strange place
the only one
the imposed one
the song of the crickets
and her song are the same
once there was a woman asleep
who threw her body to flight
and there was no net
no audience
no rope
in pure transparency
and without secrecy
her humid sadness
her useless hardness
her center of equilibrium
open to all dangers
like that of awakening each morning
rain proofed against water
fire proofed against flame
lost in dictionaries
chewing words
as if they were grapes
almonds
warm bread or raw meat
dark and disbelieving
she learned to be happy with the silence
believing opened leg
in love
her hands full
to see if being in live flesh
she can exit
this life
alive

Poem by Florence Figols

Between my skin and my bones; the dark room body

Between my skin and my bones
   There is light and absence of light
   Black and white body inhaling light
   Negative printed somewhere
Between my skin and my bones
   There is a dark room – secret room – silent room
Between my skin and my bones
   There are sensitive cells
   That capture all that escapes us
   That forms without points. Lines. Surfaces or volumes
   That capture words without letters
Between my skin and my bones
   There is a magic fluid
   That brings inside out the latent poetic
   That transforms black and white
      And white to black

Where is that eye looking at me? Where is that eye truing to freeze in
time a fraction of a second of myself? That is trying to steal a fraction of a
second of my life? While I move, while I try to forget myself, while my
body prints in time and space a black and white gesture?