White Woman’s Tears
You try to say the tears
aren’t healing or grief
or even genuine.
can’t hear you
Beyond our own soft-shelled bubbles,
Me Me Me’s,
don’t know we wear.
we have been victims too
of the patriarchy,
even as I/we use that system to
decry our guilt.
Words borrowed from White Fragility: tears, walls, beliefs, damsel
We are, all of us, just doing the best we can, a
tired effort to right wrongs. A poem
as justice written in free verse is
empty. We must steel ourselves toward
action, so everyone can call this place home.
Golden Shovel from Jericho Brown’s “Duplex:” A poem is a gesture toward home.
I Reach Through the Screen to Touch Your Face
I was told once,
by someone who knew better than me
what poetry should be,
that readers travel the lines to escape
the mechanized and
technologized anthem of the world.
To greener pastures we go.
I wonder now,
what that sage would say,
to our LCD interface,
our cameras and mics
and careful placements of digital backgrounds,
of our shares and likes and new emoticons
because we can’t hug each other in the real.
We have become projections,
the hologram shadow of our digital selves,
and we drink deeply and still thirst.
April Pameticky, mother of two, shares time between her high school English classroom and the creative community of artists and writers in Kansas. She launched the Wichita Broadside Project, and currently serves as editor of River City Poetry, an online poetry journal. Recently, she has worked ekphrastically with photographer Amanda Dickinson Pfister using Ginsberg Sentences for a February 2020 show at the Steckline Gallery at Newman University. Her own work can be seen in journals like Malpais Review, KONZA, and Chiron Review. She is also the author of several chapbooks and her debut full-length collection, Waterbound  is available from Spartan Press.