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Cover: Theater of Memory by Lauri Burke
(Phrase coined by sociologist Y. Michal Bodemann)
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I am the poet of reality
of full-blooded colors pinkish earth cotton cloth orange and red not dirt-inked blotches on grey-worn walls.
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I am the poet of reality is a line by Walt Whitman.
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Arrival Day February 5, 1942
(Fort Lincoln Internment Camp, North Dakota)
in a small space I crack open my suitcase along with my silk socks, getas & embroidery the smell of trout bitter cold & fence sickness tumble out.
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When you are a child
this is all you have:
a picnic lunch with goose paté, a piebald dachshund, a flannel gown,
lankiness, a tiny ring, cream-paneled walls and no heart-pangs. These,
your most savage years.
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When Nothing Is True
my world is occupied behind my spectacles are
tribal sounds, blue emptiness
& buttonholes lift the veil to find my frog-
skinned mind torrents of hard ices
pom-pom laws
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Alice-Catherine Jennings © 2020
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