M. E. Silverman
August 2014 Flashes
M. E. Silverman is editor and founder of Blue Lyra Review and Review Editor of Museum of Americana. He is on the board of 32 Poems and is a reader for Spark Wheel Press. His chapbook, The Breath before Birds Fly (ELJ Press, 2013), is available. His poems have appeared in over 75 journals, including: Crab Orchard Review, 32 Poems, December, Chicago Quarterly Review, North Chicago Review, Hawai'i Pacific Review, Tupelo Quarterly, The Southern Poetry Anthology, The Los Angeles Review, Tulane Review, Weave Magazine, Many Mountains Moving, Pacific Review, Poetica Magazine and other magazines. He recently completed editing Bloomsbury’s Anthology of Contemporary Jewish American Poetry with Deborah Ager. http://www.mesilverman.com
Response to: I Can’t Get Off the Couch
Face it, the couch can’t get away from you, no matter how hard it tries to be a wallflower, to simply enjoy the space & its place in the room rather than worry about stubs for legs & unmoving arms, the shadows that cobweb corners, the hours spent lost in darkness, dreaming feng shui, but waking with a load of water, those sacks stuck in their flaky skin who are busy staring at bright boxes full of unimaginable action & aching hearts. Look, the couch would love nothing more than to waste the day caped with a shawl, laying burdened on someone’s back like Atlas, but honestly the couch is waiting for the right cover to turn it almost youthful & beautiful, waiting for the vibrating wonder of the vacuum so it can come clean, eyeing the shapely Victorian curves of the love-seat, waiting & waiting for it to make the first move.
Response to: Chocolate Causes Massive Acne
At first, the preteens refused to believe but then the red bubbles spotted his face & neck, trailed down his chest snake-like & coated his body, swelling to candy shell size then puffy thin-mint circles that oozed thick white, which, of course, caused cries of surprise from his family & by the time the doctors emitted him, the acne ballooned to gumdrop size, showing no sign of stopping, & word spread until the children in town heard it from the grocer & the coffee shop lady & even the shoe store guy in the church choir. What could they do in the face of it all? After the cruel truth was known, the kids dug through their drawers and under their bed, all the nooks where they kept their secret-secrets, removing their stash of sweet treats, those half-eaten bars & the brown bags stuffed with odd bits & chunks, every piece plunked into the trash bins before they could suffer the same & have their own teen troubles begin.
Response to: It’s Getting Harder & Harder
to Leave the House
Yes, but think how difficult it is for the house, always missing you, always waiting, thankless, unnoticed, untouched, under-appreciated, so sometimes, yeah, the house wishes it could leave, just for a day mind you, growing brick boat shoes or nimble wooden limbs, anything to ease into a journey of adventure away from rodents, peeing pets, & other pests living off its flaking skin—oh, let’s not forget the humans who sponge away its soul, spending time slipping away to other houses & dreaming of faraway homes, homes that float at the edge of exotic wonderlands more hut than safe enclosure, homes no one abandons or forecloses, homes full of bowl-candy love everyone finds too-damn-happy to forget much less leave.