after Nina Cassian
We hear about it: the triangle that a grown man must please. We remember the art museum, the anatomy chart, the wondrous, flayed and sundered frog, so far away, so close. We learn to calculate distance. We overlook the woman’s face. We must, however, learn to see and please the spread wings of her eyes, the arrowhead that her tongue becomes as she speaks, or remain clueless youth.
In another lifetime, I was a boy running through the cobbled streets of Bucharest. My mother’s face was beauty, bone and worry. I could never triangulate my way home; I could never quite pinpoint poetry, impiety or exile.
Glen Armstrong holds an MFA in English from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst and teaches writing at Oakland University in Rochester, Michigan. He also edits a poetry journal called Cruel Garters.
Jan 15, 2015 0CALL FOR: This is an invitation call for poetry editors, scholars, professors and creative writing geniuses to be a part of a mammoth project on contemporary world poetry of major Diasporas. WHAT IT IS NOT: This is not another anthology or a mere collective of poetry. This is a much...