June 30, 2010

Poem-A-Day: Erica Miriam Fabri, Dialect of a Skirt

Academy of American Poets

June 30, 2010

Today's poem is from Dialect of a Skirt, published by Hanging Loose Press. Reprinted with permission. All rights reserved.

Read more about this book.




Related Poems
"What Do Women Want?"
by Kim Addonizio
Black Nikes
by Harryette Mullen
Borrowed Dress
by Cathy Colman

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Suite 604
New York, NY 10012
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Dialect of a Skirt
by Erica Miriam Fabri

The young girl wanted a new voice. After all, people got
new things every day. A new hip, a new nose, a new set
of suspenders. She adored the consonants that landed
like wooden shoes. She loved the type of L-sounds
that made a mouth drool from the back of the tongue
to the front. She practiced her new voice into seashells,
tin cans, caves. She gave her first performance quietly,
into the ear of her sleeping dog. She could tell by his snorting
that his dreams were of fat tree trunks and black, truffle-filled
soil. Later, she drove to the local gas station and used her new
voice to ask for a pack of cigarettes. She wasn't wearing a bra,
but the attendant didn't notice. He was too busy listening
to the way sound seemed to drip out of her mouth
as she said the word, Camel.

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June 29, 2010

Poem-A-Day: Ander Monson, Detail of My Sort of Light

Academy of American Poets

June 29, 2010

Today's poem is from The Available World, published by Sarabande Books, Inc.. Reprinted with permission. All rights reserved.

Read more about this book.




Related Poems

  • Aerialist
    by Victoria Hallerman
  • Orange Girl Suite [excerpt]
    by Simone Muench
  • The Secret of Light
    by James Wright


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    You can unsubscribe from our Poem-A-Day emails at anytime—either completely, or until next April.

    Academy of American Poets
    584 Broadway
    Suite 604
    New York, NY 10012
    212-274-0343
    academy@poets.org



    Detail of My Sort of Light
    by Ander Monson

    Now I know that everything is a body,
    so even the snow and the sand and
    the blood rivered down in the snow,
    and snowed on again so it's buried
    is a body. All things are bodies in photos—
    detail of the left side of a breast and the arm's
    pit—detail of the sled slumbered under
    by the storm's leavings. Detail of my sort
    of so-early half-lit eyelid light that bodies
    are near to invisible and touch is no longer
    the sole way of knowing, and outline is all
    that there is. Detail of your body as it does
    its morning leaving thing. Detail of what
    light there is on your skin. Detail of land-
    scape of let me in please and coffee, warm
    when the weather's action on this body is less
    than ideal. Landscape with pear. Landscape
    with weather and part of a breast in the frame.

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