Issue 14

Poetry: Frank Matagrano

Allowing the Body to Finally Speak

This request will be in the voice
        of a propaganda film asking
the country for nylons and chocolate
        bars, a wish that will trail off
like music from a car window,
        like foreplay, like a series

of horseshoes and hand grenades.
        I am partial to the idea
of making love as a means
        of stalling death, of allowing
the body to finally speak

on the spirit’s behalf: I want
        to be touched by a stranger
in the back seat of a car
        so that there is a darkness
to fear again. Boo: that’s my new term
        of endearment. It’s Cajun.

(first published in 32 Poems)

A Governer for Your Flippancy

Say heart, say heart on your sleeve, say you become
      a better person every time you leave this room.

Say you once fell asleep in this chair. Say you dreamt
      the one you loved tried to reach out, and say you spent

half your life trying to call back. Admit you hated
      the work: start with yourself, start in this space, start

by pulling the curtains back and say heart, say palate,
      say purpose, say lust. Say there are hundreds like you

who ache. Feel the weight on your sleeve. Look at it
      under any light. Say match, say candle, say forty watts.