Jess Feldman

Pickle

Across the sands of Normandy
the dead dive silver hands
into crisp summer baskets
We wave to them
They busy themselves
with small sandwiches
When we call to them
they smooth thin cotton
napkins over torn legs
snap checkered picnic blankets
over splintered beach
rest their eyes on the sea
swallow

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Home in Time

Small troll          scurry back
to your lousy apartment
Hungry for dinner          kids conquer
a fear of starving
with collective gnashing
Imagine them as adolescents
equipped with lances          Here
is your locked door          Here
the shiny slim buttons          dart along
the counter          Smash them
under your open palm          Home
is any place you to return to          This one
sandwiched          between          O
sobbing drunk grandmothers
crooning Beatles songs
TV on          wrack these walls          Railing
against grown progeny          Ugly cry
No meme for levity          As if
this tenement          the collapsed
scales of its futile red armor          slunk
about us          fatally wounded beast of
what we refused
to believe          The knight closing in

 


Jess Feldman’s poetry has appeared in Sixth Finch, Reality Beach, Paperbag and elsewhere. Her manuscript “Call It a Premonition” was chosen by Zachary Schomburg as winner of the 2015 BOAAT Winter Chapbook Competition. Jess currently lives in Brooklyn, NY.