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Runners-up from the Poetry Contest for the Fall 2009 issue of the Phi Kappa Phi Forum:
An Evening with Professor Perkins
Tomorrow I will stand at that lectern
and shake my finger, abhorring the same
“frilly, rotten online notions” they yearn
to touch through their phones. … Am I drawn to shame?
Twitter, Amazon, MySpace and eBay—
dare I put down my purple pen and stop
grading the papers that I stuffed away
two weeks ago? Clichés, atrocious slop
meant to be writing, and blunders accrue!
This shuddering urge to halt my productive
efforts feels like an infectious homebrew
moonshined last night—a feat most seductive.
One hundred forty characters consume
this loathsome tweet I can’t help but resume.
Michelle Crabb (Armstrong Atlantic State University) recently graduated summa cum laude from Armstrong Atlantic State University with a bachelor’s degree in Information Technology. In her free time she enjoys writing and reading. When the mood fits, she posts the occasional blog: http://delightfullydistracted.blogspot.com/. Email her at michelle.crabb@gmail.com.
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On Poorhouse Road, 1968
When my mother wakens me at 6 a.m.
she smells of pancakes, sausage, cigarettes, and dime store cologne.
She is tired, but kind.
Just off the night shift at Waffle House but she waits
to see me get on the bus.
My school coat from the thrift store is clean.
She waves and I see her smile crack
behind the worn screen door.
There are some choices my mother never made
so I am here and alive.
I waken mother when I get home from school.
I hug her and she pulls me under the covers with her,
this safe nest, for a while.
You will go to college, she says.
You will go to church and live decently.
Lisa Jillani (University of North Carolina at Charlotte) is a senior history major at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte. She is past literary editor of the Charlotte Poetry Review and was president of the Charlotte Writers’ Club. A living history interpreter at the Charlotte Museum of History, she hopes to inspire children to learn about their past in order to prepare for a successful future. Email her at ljillani@carolina.rr.com.
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Community College
John’s glasses hang by one arm, the bridge
of his nose dutifully balancing them;
under the ubiquitous blue ball cap, gray
curls collect over keen ears, sharply greeting
the teaching of my voice, making sense of words
as they leave my mouth. Youth wrinkles
out from under the scrolls of his face.
I’ve never seen him without the blue
cap, and usually a paisley shirt, folded
then unfolded from a drawer down a street
somewhere. What does he bring in beneath
the graying eyebrows? When will the bridge
of his nose collapse like an origami bird
under the weight of his knowledge?
Balancing a book on his knee, the same knee
that balances grandchildren and four sons,
he reads each page; each English word leaps
into his glance until class is dismissed.
He’s my grandfather, fleeing Poland,
carrying a slice of babka in his satchel,
or an uncle, clutching a tug boat from Cuba,
making waves across the lonely ocean.
He could be one of the migrant workers
who picked cherries, tipped their hats, and whistled
as I swooned one summer in the heat. He
is a girl from Guyana, braids fastened tightly
to her scalp, dawn percolating on her face,
wanting to see the beginning justify the end.
Amy Nawrocki (University of Bridgeport) teaches English and Creative Writing at the University of Bridgeport. As a poet, she has received numerous awards including first place in the Litchfield Review’s 2008 writing contest and finalist in the Codhill Press chapbook competition. Her chapbook Potato Eaters is available from Finishing Line Press. Email her at nawrocki@bridgeport.edu.
