Atrocity Exhibition
  • home
  • writing
  • art
  • about
    • submit
    • authors
    • artists
  • features

3 poems by Janelle Rainer

1/20/2016

2 Comments

 

What Remains 

They are unimportant on a Sunday
afternoon, swapping stories and sharing 

a bottle of bitter wine on a bench 
overlooking the river. These two

are grown men, and then some.
They don’t need to list their tragedies

on a scorecard. So many impossible things 
have happened. But this is a safe place 

to unravel among the quiet wildness, the sun
bearing down. Most of the time

we live in two places at once--
where we are and where we want

to be. But these men insist on belonging
to this moment. There is no talk

of before or after, just of now.
The birds, the water, the wine

growing sweeter at the bottom
of the bottle. By sunset, the wine

and the men are gone. What remains
is the river, always changing

and always the same.  







The Corner

Mostly, I see men
smoking here. Sometimes,

children play here.
Women talk on 

their phones here.
One time, a man

was crying here.
The corner of two

lethargic streets,
the edge of a lawn

that leads to a stucco
apartment complex.

There’s a yellow hydrant
and a concrete ledge

to sit on. That’s it.
Yet we gravitate here

to do our human things.
Here is where we learn

the mysteries of the world.
Out in the open,

where everything
is up for grabs.







Beyond the End

He is shamelessly happy
to take out the trash.
He descends the spiral staircase
and follows the stone path
laid out to the can. 
Well, no longer a can--
more like giant Tupperware
with wheels. Late October,
winter on the way.

He has a smoke in the alley.
The neighborhood is dying--
everyone is moving closer
to downtown, closer 
to the ache of the city.
He doesn’t mind--
popularity is unusable.

This row of Victorians
used to be elegant, similar
to the photograph of an actress
long dead, or almost there.
Only a matter of time before
the block is bought up
and leveled for something
monstrous and profitable.

We must be brave when everything
is taken away. He exhales
and looks up to where
the moon should be, but is not.
His beard is more white
than gray, his eyes
more closed than open. 


​

Picture
Janelle Rainer is a poet, painter and teacher living in the Pacific Northwest. She worked as a soda fountain waitress, peach orchard laborer, and shoe salesman before earning her B.A. in English from Whitworth University, followed by her M.F.A. in Poetry from Pacific University. Her poetry has been published in numerous journals, including Harpur Palate and The Louisville Review, and her paintings have been featured in venues in and around Spokane, Washington. Her debut poetry collection, Two Cups of Tomatoes, was released in October 2015.

2 Comments
Matte Blk link
8/29/2020 05:58:56 pm

Not one soul will
perish who puts
their trust in Me.
-Jesus
|
http://AbstractVocabulary.blogspot.com
|
Just warning.
Never judging.
GBY!

Reply
Matte Blk link
4/3/2022 04:31:45 pm

Heads-up, girl:
Take your first finger and hold
it close to your indelible thumb;
the spaceNbetween is how long
our lives are - then comes eternity:
Seventh-Heaven or Abyss o'Misery
(yes, dear, Purgatory is true as
the Son Shining upon humanity).
○♡○♡○♡○♡○♡○♡○♡○♡○♡○♡○
And who decides which realm?
WEE do! Ourselves! And our eyes!
...according to the deeds WEE have
accomplished in our WEE lifetime!
☆☆☆ nrg2xtc.blogspot.com ☆☆☆
I'm a true, Near Death Experiencer.
---> God Bless You.
---> I'll pray for you.
---> God ain't a religion;
God's a relationship.

Reply



Leave a Reply.

    Archives

    July 2016
    May 2016
    March 2016
    February 2016
    January 2016
    November 2015
    October 2015

Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.
  • home
  • writing
  • art
  • about
    • submit
    • authors
    • artists
  • features