{ Blue Bucolic – poems – Rebecca Kokitus }

Blue Bucolic
poems, Rebecca Kokitus
Thirty West Publishing House, 2019

~

In reading the poems of Rebecca Kokitus, I can often see the jigsaw puzzle no one saved from the fire. Can feel the pulse of a mother as taken by a rubber band. Can hear the blip of a sporadically working radar and can match it to the click that sounds itself out in the knee. Knee over which a walking cane was long ago broken within earshot of those familiar with brevity’s limp. If Blue Bucolic is here a return to tiny and frostbitten things, then it is there a reheated examination of anti-smallness. It leaves. It belongs.

~

reflection by Barton Smock

~

book is here:
https://www.thirtywestph.com/shop/bluebucolic

{ an / otherness }

i.

Cynthia Manick was interviewed by The Woven Tale Press, here:

https://wtpcentral.thewoventalepress.net/2018/11/12/wtp-2018-winner-cynthia-manick/

/

work in {isacoustic*}:

https://isacoustic.com/2018/10/15/person-cynthia-manick-five-poems/

ii.

Mike Ferguson has a new book of poems from Red Ceilings Press titled Professions, as such:

http://www.theredceilingspress.co.uk

/

work in {isacoustic*}:

https://isacoustic.com/2018/09/17/person-mike-ferguson-two-poems/

iii.

Rebecca Kokitus was interviewed by Thirty West, here:

https://www.thirtywestph.com/column/rebeccakokitusinterview

/

work in {isacoustic*}

https://isacoustic.com/2018/07/10/person-rebecca-kokitus-one-poem/

person Rebecca Kokitus, one poem

Rebecca Kokitus is a part time resident of Media, PA just outside Philadelphia, and a part time resident of a small town in rural Schuylkill County, PA. She is an aspiring poet and is currently an undergraduate in the writing program at West Chester University of Pennsylvania. She has recent work in Moonchild Magazine, Rising Phoenix Review, and Rose Quartz Journal, among other places. She tweets at @rxbxcca_anna.

/\

moon

my only caller is the
nightfall, loosening and growing heavier
on my chest like a drunken lover dozing
mid-sex.

I tend to wish upon the moon
instead of the stars, because she knows me
like she knows her craters.

(star)dust bunny stirring in the sky,
she gazes down at me, that cold stare—
one eye open in sleep.
I am a shadow turned inside out.

*previously published in Spider Mirror Journal

/\