Prose Poetry by Julia Rose Lewis

Prose Poetry 

by

Julia Rose Lewis

You Were the Discoverer of the Wormhole to the Gamma Quadrant.
After Bianca Stone

Gamma is the Greek number three: you, me, and Dax (Lela, Tobin, Emony, Audrid, Torias, Joran, Curzon, Jadzia, and Ezri, the joined thrill.)

You run anomaly scans in operations at night to relax. I check you for ticks because you are extremely allergic to insect bites.

Your favorite drink is a Black Hole and your unrequited love was a physicist. The teacher, the explorer, the biologist, the fourth is not given.

Your mentor tried to steal the body of a shape-shifter decades after he washed you out of the program. Still, you miss the hoobishan baths at home.

You look good in blue. In vessels named for the earth’s rivers the Gander, Ganges, Mekong, Orinoco, Rio Grande, Rubicon, Shenandoah, Volga, Yangtzee Kiang, and Yukon.

You have inherited a love of steamed, not fried nor sauteed, azna from prior hosts. I dislike okra of all kinds.

You are attracted to aliens, farangi (a Persian word) and sleeping in the skins of animals slaughtered on a alien world.

You commanded the defiant. Run you boat.

You are late; we schedule our time together in twenty-six hour days. Where do you see yourself in three-hundred years?

I would like to see some of my molecules and some of your molecules in the runabout Rio Grande. Watch the emissary and what you leave behind to understand you are loved.

 

Re: Water’s Monologue

This is the character of water wanting inside the tree where apples are happening; they are bathtub white now. Because the body is not only pipe, nor pump, I must worry about pollution. A cup of tea being a bathtub in miniature some bitterness, same the heat. Here I reside in Nantucket’s tap as great the glasses of water or lakes, a thinking cup its breaking point.

Of capricorns, Enki, and I besides the biologist likes the goats; they give their milk, the fish for dinner oven ready ocean. His voice across the Atlantic reading to me. I want to be an island of water inside the dry this horse a Sagittarius yes.

 

Breaking Again

“Tell me a story…”
Lighthousekeeping

Thank you for taking me to the Moth last night. I do have money for you for my ticket. I’m sorry I forgot to give it to you.

Wil’s breaking project essay is as much a reflection of him as you as me. I am beginning to break old habits.

At the start of my life and at the start of the summer, I said no to you. I held you at a distance. How does a double negative mean differently than a yes? I think double negative implies change and counterfactuals. Not no, in silence’s stead.

I am afraid you will break my brain, the red and gray place in my head.

Holding Pattern is the name of a series of poems in my dissertation. They are old love poems (baltic isopods). I have been avoiding them this summer. They need revision, I know, but I was afraid of confronting old feelings. I have been avoiding the old man (object) of the poems as well. He is on island; we have been friends. After listening to you last night, I feel less afraid. Even braided and soldered sterling silver will unravel now and again.

I love how responsive you are to my writing. I love how responsive your body is to mine. I love that you said, “Descartes was wrong,” in bed.

“This is not a love story, but love is in it. That is, love is just outside it, looking for a way to break in.”
Lighthousekeeping

 

Of Cats and Bathtubs

The flattest sentences I could find. Four and ten are fourteen. Four times ten is forty. The verb to be in poetry, the equals sign in mathematics, metaphor really, where is the mountain in the photograph? The leg of a horse can be a cliff face to a kitten, the thickness of a draft horse.

Be kind nightmare. There is nothing delicate about this old warmblood.

The flat test I created for you.

When I am with you, Mu is equivalent to Enki. Mu is forty. Enki is forty. Force the mouse to sing. This is the story of a cat named Mouse. First named Mu, his brother Pi died, and so his name changed. He was the mewling kitten. Now the muse singing.

The kitten that did not get killed.

Mu rhymes with new. Nu is the flow velocity. Nu is a variable in the Navier-Stokes equation for describing fluid behavior. Remember Enki is the god of water and semen. Where are the other verbs?

The floating rest here.

 

Nolite Te Bastardes Carborundorum (Margaret Atwood)

Nolite Polite Not lie No light (not quite black hole) Night life (magic)

Te (Tea) Thee The Thou

Bastardes Bastards!

Carborundorum Car bore run door rum Cardboard and or um (some) Cared or under hum Carbon dear come home (soon)

From sand and water come castles. Here is calcium carbonate from scallop shells and silicon dioxide on the ground. Sand paper grinds you down, yes, and polishes. The shine and electrical properties of silicon carbide can be mistaken for diamond.

From sand and water come quicksand. You live with the grit of fallen sandcastles. The water will wash you for a time.

 

Bio: Julia Rose Lewis is a working towards her MFA at Kingston University London.  She received her BA in Biology and Chemistry from Bryn Mawr College PA.  Her scientific training has given her an appreciation for the judicious use of terminology, stories of evolution, and evolution of stories.  She is interested in the role environment plays in love poems/love stories.  Her chapbook manuscript is an attempt to answer the questions- Can you love a person as a place? and can you love a place as a person?  She began her love affair with the Little Grey Lady in the Sea twenty-eight years ago.  (She also owns a horse named Apollo’s Lady.)  When not in school, she is living on Nantucket Island.  She is a member of the Moors Poetry Collective of Nantucket.

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