top of page
  • Writer's pictureThe Blue and White Magazine

Measure for Measure, October 2014

Updated: Jul 13, 2021

Airport in Early Morning

by Bhajan in Bageshri

I have ovaries for heads; I am of two minds. I am leaving the children in a burning bus. Let me eat my mouth If it will make me forget The drowning horse that is wading through my chest. Here a red locust Hangs from our dog, Poco. It is a popped, red tomato boiling in my throat. Losing the weight, Arranging a marriage, My herds of goats trudge through lowly, tangled power lines. Rubbing the cumin, The coconut jewelry, I’m stringing the laundry; the little birds will peck it till it’s dry. The silence and breast, The shirt and the dress, I live in a star, the stroking lotion promise and its death. Flogging my mother, My master, my father, A cherry Life Saver, melting in the heat of my mouth. Beating my grandson With handfuls of sweet corn, My uncle, my asthma, melting in the shoddy yellow house.

The Shower

When I was in India, My favorite part of the day Was my shower, at sunset; Not because it was so hot, And the water so cold, But because I would look up At the lizard on the ceiling And the spiders on the ceiling And think to myself: “What words will I use?”

I Keep My Greatness As My Secret

by P.J. Sauerteig

Late comes my greatest hour -The midnight hour, where I can look in the mirror And turn the lamp on and off. I am, I am not, I am. And each night I create myself And suffer my dissolution, only For the great pleasure of my Resurrection in the lamplight. My fingers tremble with power And my own beauty astounds me. Is rebirth at your fingertips? Sometimes the lights flicker For hours on end; I cannot decide How the world deserves me. Is death in your hands? I am, I am not, I am. In each house, lights flicker. The world wakes, tired and smiling.


Recent Posts

See All

Going Home

By Madison Hu when the light turns red, he will go home in the meantime, three friends walk arm to arm the baby is on his father’s shoulders and it is nothing he can’t defeat yet later, he will only r

Selected Poems

By Thaleia Dasberg “simmer” over milkwashed fields plucking feathers off corn stalks bleeding I watch you steam you smoked thing boots freezing under a stomach hot with buried spring “sarasota (next t


bottom of page