Poem of the Week, Tilt, Michelle Reale

Well, we had Editrice Laura become legal, and now Editrice Liz gets to heft that all-important bottle on Tuesday. Don't worry, she won't be getting too incapacitated and everything should get sent out and done next week. Let's celebrate with a poem we really like that also is about growing older. WARNING: Our little POW intro is about to segue into one of those personal blogs no one ever wants to read. Forgive us, we never do this to you, and it's been almost three years. Suck it up, and go pour a whiskey and Coke for yourself afterward.

Just today I (Liz) was thinking that I have everything figured out. Jobs I love with people I love working with, (the last part very key), an awesome college to go back to in a week or so, a spontaneous internship, a literary magazine which keeps on winging its way forward, and oh yes, did we mention the adorable and amazing significant other? Then I'm like, no....you, um, really wish you had another place to live and more money and more time. Also better social skills and hair. But somehow, that all melts away with the promise of time. At least for me right now, time means growth and not stagnation. 20 was one of the best years of my life and let's hope 21 keeps the awesome train a rollin'!

Thanks Toucan fans. You may lead me to an early grave (or drive me to drink), all those sleepless nights of laying out the mag and reading submissions, but you've helped to give me an interesting life.

Tilt

by Michelle Reale

Shall I open a vein? We can do this all night, you know. Become transfixed watching ruby formations, drop by agonizing drop. But maybe you prefer a gush like a fountain or the kind of motion that causes a mere ripple in those already troubled waters that we navigate like the embarrassing amateurs we really are.

What has coiled in my marrow is still undefined, and though it lies dormant it billows and recedes within its confines.

You can stem the flow simply with the touch of your hand. I still have so much growing to do. I am the seed that could flower right in the palm of your hand, if only you would send some sun my way. I could be blind and happy with what I might find there.