Crevice and other poetry

3 poems by Morgan Boyer

Poet’s Corner at Underside Stories! Tonight’s poet is Morgan Boyer. More about her at the end, but for now, enjoy her offerings.

For the second one, if you don’t know who Paul Morantz is, do yourself a favor and read up first.

Photo by Trevor Hayes on Unsplash — A very literal crevice…

Crevice 

Creeping in between the crevice
that divided my light blue floral-quilted 

box spring mattress, I smelt the sock-infested
stalagmites as dust entered each nostril. 

Awaiting the light of 7:30 am where mom would
give me Starbucks on our drive to McMurray
Elementary, where I’d spend my math classes

doodling, economic ones dripping pretzels 
into chocolate fondue, and playing scrabble

on the sidewalks after our teacher had read 
us the story of Sachiko on the crab-grass hill.

The story of a girl who was once like us living
in the same paradise of prepubescent childhood, 

only to be trapped in a crevice between dust-ridden 
disaster of death and heartfelt hearth of hope.  

A delightful glimpse into youth, with strong sensory inclusion. Can you smell the sock dust? See the chocolate-dripping pretzels? - Luke

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Photo by Chris Curry on Unsplash — also a very literal snake, but so is the one in the poem, so…

For Paul Morantz 

“You should never kill a rattlesnake—
A rattlesnake is human,” -Natalie Diaz, “Snake-Light”

She was chugged through into metal box
with cut-out coupons and real estate ads, 
her voice she once wielded with mastery across the West 
was not chopped off like the stem of a strawberry’s head

the two men clad in military badges 
in a carriage coated white, their fingers slivered
Across the steering wheel in 
the mid-afternoon California sun, poised
to strike this hairy-man’s chest into silence, 
bringing the poison of fear to 

the families in nearby houses, who sat 
down on their floral couches to watch
The Brady Bunch and Scooby-Doo in between 
TV dinners and homework assignments, 

to muffle the whistle of the wind itself 
from speaking of the venomous spikes 
of an alcohol-laced so-called messiah 

A moment of forgotten history immortalized in poetry - Luke

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Photo by Dan Barrett on Unsplash - don’t let the guinea pig distract you

I’d write you a poem

I’d write you a poem, but I’m trying to pencil in my notebook of all
of the different ways to paint the beautiful Luo Binghe’s eyelashes

I’d write you a poem, but I have to first find a cheaper alternative
to Photoshop so I can draw said demon king’s keratin feathers   

I’d write you a poem, but I have to think about how the amount 
of Botox on Pat Sajak’s facial muscles is breaking some FDA code

I’d write you a poem, but now all I think about is how that excess 
of botox has sent at least 27 elderly women into cardiac arrest  

I’d write you a poem, but first let me type a novel-length essay
on why children’s fantasy authors are obsessed with fat-shaming

I’d write you a poem, but I want to find out what happened to 
that drive-in theater where I saw Shrek 2 in the summer of 2004. 

I’d write you a poem, but I remembered that time Mr. Varga’s 
house was on fire while I watched the English dub of Hamtaro

I’d write you a poem, but let me rewatch this week’s episode 
of Demon Slayer season 4; that theme song is a banger.    

I’d write you a poem, but then I’d actually have to write.  

It’s been put a thousand ways—the writer’s (artist’s) struggle; the distractions, the alternative priorities, the anxiety, the lack of a muse. But this is a worthy entry. - Luke

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Photo by Alexander Grey on Unsplash

Meet the author: Morgan Boyer is the author of The Serotonin Cradle (Finishing Line Press, 2018) and a graduate of Carlow University. Boyer has been featured in Kallisto Gaia Press, Thirty West Publishing House, Oyez Review, Pennsylvania English, and Voices from the Attic. Boyer is a neurodivergent bisexual woman who resides in Pittsburgh, PA.  

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