2012
This poem resonates for me on many levels. It speaks to the universality of loss and how we grapple with the world in times of great tragedy. Through the inability to see thunder, or pay the bills, or to even contemplate recovery, there are so many ways to feel deeply about this poem. This piece does a superb job of helping us wade through complicated feelings that are interconnected. The poet skillfully weaves these complex issues with beautiful metaphoric skill. The simple act of opening the curtains gives us glimmers into hope despite rising losses. A line as simple as “even if our phone worked” packs a powerful punch to the poem’s ending. - Connie Post.
"How to Paint in the Dark" by Rebecca Schumejda
After the hurricane took away our electricity
we open the curtains, sit at the kitchen table
pull out acrylic paint, brushes and canvas.
There are crickets chirping and it is daytime.
I overhear the neighbors to the left of us
discussing the possibility of meat going bad,
pounds and pounds of venison and pork chops.
They will grill it all and invite family over.
Our neighbor, to the right, talks about losing
a bid for a job; this is the third consecutive time;
he just can’t charge any less. He has to pay for
insurance. Now this, the high winds blowing off
shingles, flood waters engulfing cars, seeping
through foundations, collecting and sitting
stagnant, growing foul. Our neighbor behind us
is beating his dog because his wife left him.
My daughter looks out windows; she wants
to see thunder. As soon as I tell her that you can
only hear it, she looks defeated. I wonder why
humans steal each other’s faith. The dog cowers
in the bushes that separate our yards and I know
even if our phone worked, I wouldn’t call the police.
we open the curtains, sit at the kitchen table
pull out acrylic paint, brushes and canvas.
There are crickets chirping and it is daytime.
I overhear the neighbors to the left of us
discussing the possibility of meat going bad,
pounds and pounds of venison and pork chops.
They will grill it all and invite family over.
Our neighbor, to the right, talks about losing
a bid for a job; this is the third consecutive time;
he just can’t charge any less. He has to pay for
insurance. Now this, the high winds blowing off
shingles, flood waters engulfing cars, seeping
through foundations, collecting and sitting
stagnant, growing foul. Our neighbor behind us
is beating his dog because his wife left him.
My daughter looks out windows; she wants
to see thunder. As soon as I tell her that you can
only hear it, she looks defeated. I wonder why
humans steal each other’s faith. The dog cowers
in the bushes that separate our yards and I know
even if our phone worked, I wouldn’t call the police.
Connie Post's "To Iraq" in Issue #16.
Connie Post served as Poet Laureate of Livermore, California (2005 to 2009). Her work has appeared dozens of journals, including Calyx, Comstock Review, Cold Mountain Review Slipstream, Spillway Spoon River Poetry Review, Valparaiso Poetry Review and Verse Daily. Her first full length Book “Floodwater” (Glass Lyre Press 2014) won the Lyrebird Award. Her other awards include the 2017 Prick of the Spindle Poetry Competition, the Caesura Award and the 2016 Crab Creek Poetry Award.
Connie Post served as Poet Laureate of Livermore, California (2005 to 2009). Her work has appeared dozens of journals, including Calyx, Comstock Review, Cold Mountain Review Slipstream, Spillway Spoon River Poetry Review, Valparaiso Poetry Review and Verse Daily. Her first full length Book “Floodwater” (Glass Lyre Press 2014) won the Lyrebird Award. Her other awards include the 2017 Prick of the Spindle Poetry Competition, the Caesura Award and the 2016 Crab Creek Poetry Award.
