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  August 2006
volume 4 number 3
-table of contents-
 
  home   (archived)
 
  featured poets
  Arlene Ang
  Theresa Antonia
  Hayley Berariu
  Beth Cheng
  Jeanette Clough
  Amélie Frank
  Nelson Gary
  Gretchen Keer
  Collin Kelley
  Kamuran Kelly
  Adam Lowis
 
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Arlene Ang August 2006
   

 

bio


photo by kevin berger

    Arlene Ang lives in Venice where she edits the Italian edition of Poems Niederngasse. Her poetry has been published in Envoi, The Pedestal, Mississippi Review Online, Rattle, Smiths Knoll, and 2River View. Her first full collection of poetry, The Desecration of Doves is available through Amazon.com, and through Barnes & Noble.

   

 

Fish

Here's the tabby wanting to get in.



I've been scratched

& it's not a laughing matter.



This is how my brother cried

when twenty carp floated



belly-up in his lotus pond.

Lack of oxygen induces slow death:



remember the salmon under

a plastic wrap, the smell of rot?



This morning I wake up

with a man not my husband.



And there's that bowl of fish.

copyright 2006 Arlene Ang

   

 

Allhallows Noon

Late October. Like oranges squashed

by speeding trucks or sun

face-flat on white beads of dirt

and spurting curses, pumpkin risotto simmers,

stirred with wooden spoon,

circled by a backdrop of teflon

against flat counter and wildflower tiles.

You confront steam, avoid my arms.

Through the terrace doors,

a tabby cat slinks.

It is midday in the kitchen,

your grandmother preferred

these auburn-eroded tones in life.

I say nothing. Lunch will soon be ready.

Till then you chatter about today's news,

the television fills in the details.

Gaps? No gaps. The pithy warmth

of amylopectin stifles the space between us.

copyright 2006 Arlene Ang

   

 

Love and Benny Hill

Love and Benny Hill


Night is when

you propose marriage.

Between the Benny Hill Show

and unbuttered popcorn,

you falter.

Your words clich

across the semi-lit divan

like arpeggios from untuned strings.



Is it ever enough, you wonder,

to say I love you-

your tongue suddenly swollen

from too much salt

that it comes out a half-croak

muted by tv applause.



She continues to munch,

laugh obliquely at the bald man

running around the park

in heart-speckled underpants.




previously published in Iota 64 (Fall 2003)

copyright 2003 Arlene Ang