of the Rhizome
beneath the bare bald cold din
of light from there and there and there
well seated deep creased
in mid market ergonomic
seeing us that said
with knowing know, and carpaled hands, and legs engorged, so rapt
what we know we’ll never cease to know and who we’ll be follows who we were until neonates cringe at what can never be, always is, and still—
look on me look on me look on me look please
none as mighty as he who wields
everything he sees
except did he forget—
no. outside a small fire burns
on an unmanned barge
CATS AND DOGS AND LOVE AND TIME
So what if I don’t name them
the men that knock on my door
Who are like stray dogs wandering the streets
In a place where it’s common
To see a high number of strays dogs wandering the streets
And to have the time to care about the stray dogs wandering the streets
Would make you something of a dog yourself
So this isn’t rude
It isn’t dehumanizing
Numbers on a screen
Fleas in the fur
It’s really a kind of self-preservation
Sure it is
It would make sense to say that it’s for the protection of my heart
So that I don’t fall in love
But, if that were even the risk, which it isn’t,
I would say
Love is not the precious thing here.
Time is.
And it’s so I don’t lose my time to them,
these lazy old nipping snouts from always online swipes and things
these crystallized old crusted-up unwanted flops.
Some might say
“Protect the strays”
I’m not sure life is as precious as all that
I think there might not be anything wrong with treating life as hard
And grinning through ground teeth
So if that’s my philosophy
and that’s their philosophy
They might say
“Anyway,
a heartless wench.
I won’t name her.
She’s like those yowling cats [for symmetry] who run from touch and warmth and just annoy the neighborhood with their desperate bawls.”
I Wonder Stupidly
i wonder stupidly,
with soft soles
bent over the ragged curb
of a grassy shore,
if anyone has ever drown themself in a manmade lake.
of course they have, i think
eyes up and etched on another tongue
blowing the hell off a blind sun
defaming the dead
white with weighted pockets
&suppose, while backing
against my self, theevillain,
that it’s much more embarrassing to throw oneself,
with dramatic abandon or quiet resignation,
into a manmade lake
then a vast ocean or terrible rapid.
— smintz, shmintz, Sarah Mintz is a recent graduate of the English M.A program at the University of Regina. Her creative writing thesis was concerned with Jewish identity and tradition mediated through popular culture. She released a poetry chapbook with JackPine Press in December 2020, and her debut collection of short short stories was launched by Radiant Press in May 2021.