Alison Luterman: What I Learned
singing’s made of sweat and spittle,
tears and snot, hot breath,
and the soggy crumb of a potato chip left
in a back corner of your unflossed tooth
Alison Luterman: At First
as the days bled into each other and I bore helpless witness
to the plagues rained down in my name on those we called other,
when I saw that the soft bodies of children were the battleground,
the stone began to burn with rage and then shame
Alison Luterman: Snowy Plover
Their wild wheelings trace the shape
of wonder and grief moving inside us,
pewter, then platinum.
It goes away like that; it comes back.
It carves a black, moving river in the air.
Vox Populi: The 15 most popular posts of 2022
During 2022, Vox Populi published 737 posts including poetry, essays and short films. Here are the fifteen most visited.
Alison Luterman: Jasmine
now we’ve grown into our own
miniature galaxy,
a wall of starry scent
Alison Luterman: Witch Walk
I don’t know what I’d expected–a portal, perhaps,
to magic me elsewhere, but she spoke only of a slight shift
in perception, that which might allow
a tiny purplish wildflower to be a doorway.
Alison Luterman: At the Jeweler’s Tent
I hold a string of amethysts up to my collarbone.
There are wrinkles on my neck now,
rings of crinkled flesh like tree-markings,
one for each lived year
Alison Luterman: A Woman Speaks of Marriages
I’ve known marriages like Niagaras, that splashed and thundered,
whose couples careened down them bravely, wearing only barrels.
Alison Luterman: She for whom I am named
left Russia at fifteen to follow her betrothed.
Good-bye, skinny chickens and fly-bitten cows,
synagogue leaning on one side, as if to dodge blows
from a Cossack’s boot
