Ayshia Stephenson
Pulse

In your black, evergreens swallow the moon.
Over the border, ah-woos blow campfire wind.
Pulse pulse light, to moans of one loon.

Flashlight flick fall past feet; the world’s a teaspoon.
Water fills the air, bubbles fall and burst on napkins.
In your black, evergreens swallow the moon.

Little loon, your wings caught in a net too soon.
A balloon floats on top: waiting for gravity to weigh-in.
Pulse pulse light, to moans of one loon.

Pass pass train with people, your horn sounds out of tune.
In your sky, babies grin, a billion stars birth twins.
In your black, evergreens swallowed the moon.
Two lovers lie on the sand, wet sugar stuck to their spoon.
His reflects, hers absorbs, she has peels of tamarind.
Pulse pulse light, to moans of one loon.

Feathers keep their bodies; they sleep in your cocoon.
In your sky, the ground lives for skin.
In your black, evergreens swallowed the moon.
Pulse pulse light, to moans of one loon.

_ _

Ayshia Stephenson fuses poetry and storytelling with a provocative and spiritual performance on the page and on the stage. She received her MFA in Writing from the California Institute of Arts, in 2009. Also a social scientist, Ayshia holds a master's in Applied Sociology from UMass-Boston. Her first book, Boston Bedroom, looks at sexuality and religion through a social, lyrical, and feminine lens.

<< Back to Issue 13, 2009