Forklift, Ohio


31 Poems by Dean YoungIlluminatrix by Alexis OrgeraSecret Damage by Russell DillonFalse Soup by Melissa BarrettLast Ride by Abraham SmithThe Lost Notebooks of Juan Sweeney translated by Chad SweeneyRanges II by Michael SchiavoThe Dark is Here by Kiki PetrosinoTouch Monkey by Stuart DischellThe Dept. of Ephebic Dreamery by Darcie Dennigan I Feel YES by Nick Sturm PATRIOT by Laurie Saurborn Young Labor Day / Collected Feelings by Lorig-Sturm / Ransom-Gobble The Imaginations by Jean-Paul Pecqueur
 

 

Illuminatrix by Alexis Orgera

Illuminatrix
by Alexis Orgera



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Life Of The Mind

Iíve been a potato since the last time
it rained. In the dank I grow
pitiful and leathery, but I grow
nonetheless like a knot on a spine.
I can see a new heart sprouting
on my inner ear, beat
in the cupped chests
of quartz pebbles. Kerspark. Kerspark.
Something catches, a telegram
in the throat, a glowworm in dirt
and the night frogs find my heart-song,
learn to sing along, little
kaisers of the night, and then coyotes
hear my song and holler—
And then the children out late marauding
hear my heart-song and they shriek
with mushroom delight, sucking
tiny fires into their lungs, blowing ash
from their own heart-studded eardrums.
But whatís most strange in the dark,
in a dirt cell where the cold sits
on my eyes, is the sound of my own
heart beating from two loci,
like a drum circle it beats in my tuber head
then in my nightshade chest, echo
and echo and echo deprived of speech
but not of sound, a headlit train
in a tunnel under a river, muted
until it canít help but scream, screaming until
it screeches to a stop, forcing
the weight of thirst and hunger
into a pea-sized body
attached to the base of the brain.
My whole tumidity howls to its terminus
in the starless garbage pale.



PRAISE FOR ILLUMINATRIX

In one of her amazing poems, Alexis Orgera writes ìI am afraid Ö / to tell you the truthî and this is just one of the many lies she tells. You donít have to read much of Illuminatrix to know Orgera isnít afraid of MUCH. These poems reveal a poet doing the hard work of poetry, observing the world and transcribing it through the filter of language. Orgeraís ears are a tuning fork she places against metaphor and imagery to create the natural sounds of a world that demands our attention.

Rick Bursky, author of The Soup of Something Missing



The effects of reading Alexis Orgeraís Illuminatrix and stargazing are similar. Her language flickers and beckons in the darkness, and you are aware of, and maybe even seized by, a cosmic energy. A kind of garish emptiness shines through the pinholes of these poemsódesire and days, and yes, light too is dying. Itís the very same ache you got that night you realized the light took so long to reach you that the stars are already dead. Youíre not sure whether the word stuck in your head is light or blightóand you must hurl your body back outside tonight and look again. This is the right book to reread in the dark.

Darcie Dennigan, author of Corinna A-Maying the Apocalypse



ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Alexis Orgera author photoAlexis Orgera is a freelance writer/editor based in Florida and the Assistant Director of the Writing Resource Center at the New College of Florida. Her work has appeared in Bat City Review, DIAGRAM, Folio, Forklift, Ohio; Green Mountains Review, Gulf Coast, jubilat, storySouth, and The Rialto, among others.