Three Poems by Julia Rose Lewis

 

Sevenling

I owe
you an avocado,
lemon scones, and slowness,

slowness, not silence. Like
lemon not ginger, like candied peel
not frozen blueberries.

I’m assuming you like fruit in scones.

 

Dear Biologist,

Please help me.

Are you real?
Can I touch you, please?
I have proved objective reality with a tea kettle.

The tea kettle hasn’t caught fire yet I am burning.

 

Photography © Allison Goldin
Photography © Allison Goldin

 

Open as Opposed to Transparent

Slap.
Mosquito.
I was thinking about asking you
about the tea kettle piece.

You said, “I wanted to ask you
about the tea kettles.

Unfolding
reality is only the salt on my skirt.
White, after wading into the sea
with my University of Chicago biologist
catching crustaceans by enfolding them into his hands
and I am not so afraid

Unfolding,
developing,
developmental neurobiologist.
My University of Chicago Biologist,
who catches sea creatures and cupping them in his hands.
I am growing transparent,
dreaming of ponds for drinking,
afraid,
enfold.

 

Julia Rose Lewis is earning her MFA at Kingston University London. When not in school, she lives on Nantucket Island and is a member of the Moors Poetry Collective. Her poems have appeared in their anthologies, Rasputin: A Poetry Thread, One Sentence Poems, and Sparks of Consciousness.

Allison Goldin is an artist living in California. Her work is a collection of spontaneous drawings from the imagination. The most common link throughout her art are the semi-recognizable creatures scattered amongst and bringing together the surrounding doodles.

 

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