THREE POEMS by LINDSAY HARGRAVE
Nadine Hurley
I used to masquerade
as Nadine Hurley
to keep the mystic about
me in the midst of
powerful fools.
I don’t know if they know
my real name but I am
a poet and married now;
I found attainment in
the white lodge and black,
came out on earth
17 again and wise with
middle age.
I’m not Nadine, but I know
her much better now.
I’m not a magician,
but I know how to be one.
I’m not a god, but I know
how to love like one.
the ocean is hungry
I have always known her
weapons to be gentle,
mighty and world-ending;
well like the cradle
eats death for breakfast,
washes with tears and
sifts through wicked bones.
Her children listen to
the moon,
they hear how evil vibrates
and they are angry.
They feel how reincarnation
smiles through the water,
and they are still.
Sonnet
Sending you messages telepathically
is the only reason I have for writing.
Signs point to everything except the
thing itself, and I have sworn against it.
I’ll see it in my sleep then and when
there is a little silence in the night air.
It’s never past midnight in the imagination.
It’s always sunny in my dreams.
Yet there are mists from long ago
that creep around the reverie, a
flavor following me upstairs and down,
something permanent and mild.
It’s not unlike me to weigh the chances.
It’s not unlike me to stay the course.
Lindsay Hargrave is a poet, editor at Graphic Violence, and a copywriter for Temple University. Proceeds from their debut chapbook ROT (2022) benefit ARC Southeast. The follow-up, Computer Baby, is available now from Bottlecap Press. Read more at linktr.ee/hargrave or follow @notporkroll on Twitter.