2 poems by Bernard Ferguson
on nihilism
my brothers & sisters
bring forth their every hymn
at once & hope that god
stirs in the middle
& stretches his fingertips to reach
to wash us clean & hopefully
that’s enough to quell the terrors
we’ve carried on from our ancestors
or at least to simmer
what has a hold of cousin cj
hovering in the back pew
& we thank the room that he healed
well enough from the bullet
them boys from ‘round the corner
made blossom in his belly & we just happy
he made it here to bless us
with his breath tonight
even though these days
he don’t show his face at mama house
unless he’s strapped with heat
cause some folks can't see
how the room folds open
when auntie whispers a prayer
in a language we don't understand
some folks are greeted by the darkness
& it’s all winter from there
sometimes ain’t nothing to catch you
from the fall & then there is only hungry
metal or the smoke
pooling at your ankles
bring forth their every hymn
at once & hope that god
stirs in the middle
& stretches his fingertips to reach
to wash us clean & hopefully
that’s enough to quell the terrors
we’ve carried on from our ancestors
or at least to simmer
what has a hold of cousin cj
hovering in the back pew
& we thank the room that he healed
well enough from the bullet
them boys from ‘round the corner
made blossom in his belly & we just happy
he made it here to bless us
with his breath tonight
even though these days
he don’t show his face at mama house
unless he’s strapped with heat
cause some folks can't see
how the room folds open
when auntie whispers a prayer
in a language we don't understand
some folks are greeted by the darkness
& it’s all winter from there
sometimes ain’t nothing to catch you
from the fall & then there is only hungry
metal or the smoke
pooling at your ankles
all these flavors and you chose salty
one summer / mamma sent us / to the store at the end / of the block / to buy salt / so when the
night / sweats in / we could at least / have some stew beef / to salt our tongues / but really /
anything dead / on this island / ends up salty / and i bet / she already knew / and still sent us / to
the corner / and gave us a branch / to knock the shit / out of any dog / that dare bark / in the face
/ of all our hunger / but we dashed / down the street / anyway / cause sticks and stones / can't
fuck / with the hounds / in a hood / known for empty bellies.
last winter / i started wishing / for the old days / when mamma / kept this belly full / somehow /
cause now / i know hunger / when i see it / even if / it is the hallowed stomach / of my bedroom /
or these palms / that reach for warmth / but only find / pockets / i know this hunger / like it is a
dead thing / and the world / is much larger / than a block these days / and i know / better safe /
than fucking around / alone / on these icy streets / so i swiped / on my phone / until the screen /
was covered in salt / until my room / had a draft / that smelled like / the ocean / cause anyone /
left alone / in this frigid city / ends up salty / anyway.
night / sweats in / we could at least / have some stew beef / to salt our tongues / but really /
anything dead / on this island / ends up salty / and i bet / she already knew / and still sent us / to
the corner / and gave us a branch / to knock the shit / out of any dog / that dare bark / in the face
/ of all our hunger / but we dashed / down the street / anyway / cause sticks and stones / can't
fuck / with the hounds / in a hood / known for empty bellies.
last winter / i started wishing / for the old days / when mamma / kept this belly full / somehow /
cause now / i know hunger / when i see it / even if / it is the hallowed stomach / of my bedroom /
or these palms / that reach for warmth / but only find / pockets / i know this hunger / like it is a
dead thing / and the world / is much larger / than a block these days / and i know / better safe /
than fucking around / alone / on these icy streets / so i swiped / on my phone / until the screen /
was covered in salt / until my room / had a draft / that smelled like / the ocean / cause anyone /
left alone / in this frigid city / ends up salty / anyway.
Bernard Ferguson is a Bahamian immigrant living in Minnesota. He's excited to convince you that Fall is not that great of a season. He has work featured/upcoming in Best New Poets 2017, Nashville Review, Winter Tangerine, Raleigh Review and Santa Ana River Review, among others. Please tell him about your favorite reggae songs.
Charlotte G. Phillips is a native artist and poet of Richmond, Virginia where she received her BFA from Virginia Commonwealth University. She currently resides in Washington, D.C. where she works as a designer at a local architecture firm. Her most recent work can be found in the art and literary journal, Viator Project.