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Featured Reader

Phynne~Belle
 

Virtual Event on October 11th, 2022–6:00 P.M to 8:00 P.M.

Live stream will be available on our YouTube Channel at the time of the event!

Phynne~Belle

Phynne~Belle is a San Francisco Bay Area poet, writer, and co-director of The Poetry Global Network, as well as host of the new Phynnecabvlarivm sessions on Twitter Spaces. She had her poetry featured in Postall Magazine’s inaugural issue, “Beginnings,” has pieces included in two poetry anthologies in 2021, Sinew: Ten Years of Poetry in the Brew and The Bronx Memoir Project Anthology Vol. V. Phynne has one poetry collection titled, Some Days, Here. You can also find her holding her a bimonthly online open mic on 2nd & 4th Thursdays, as well as organize other poetry events and programs through her Phynnecabulary platform that endeavor to make the literary arts (poetry in particular) accessible widely. Phynne used to be a superhero of creatures big and small in a past life. You can follow her on Instagram @phynne_belle and on Twitter @PhynneBelle.

To connect with her in more ways, you can go to https://linktr.ee/PhynneBelle

Loving What Remains

You no longer live in that house,
but a presence, a likeness,
wants to linger on. It can no longer
understand the limitations of walls,
the expanse between bedroom
and front door, the miles and miles
between country of past and present.
Old faces are familiar, ones from childhood,
those who have passed on. You remembered
me today, but only for a moment, and then
I regressed before your eyes, adult,
child, infant. I live in the house next door,
you insist upon it and it seems to make you
feel happy, secure. The people you see
visit me, they are here now, you can count them
sitting, observing, on boxes and molded to corners,
ready to walk across the ceiling, but they
won’t leave when you want them to leave.
We all left. Not far, but places are interchangeable
and time can move forward and backward easily,
but on a slippery track that is infinite yet always
finds itself at a dead end. You remembered me today,
because you had to urgently call me to tell me
there is a cemetery next door now, and a body
that is silent, and I try to speak, to speak,

to. S p e a k

the words that will reach you and make
sense to you somewhere where you
exist, present, lucid. When suddenly you still
appear to be sitting there, but I sense
you are being carried far away on that rolling,
endless track again, through rooms we
have not seen in decades, to recollection you
must find solace in. I listen patiently now, even
when your sentences peter out and you ask
me why I called, what we were talking about,
can I call you later, my brother is at the door,
he is coming to pick me up, in the pretty house
next door. I hope, my hope, I cling to it
for my own scant peace, I know well it is illusion.
Your thoughts perch upon that track and race away
each time I reach for them, but there is no mercy
that this farce rewinds the creeping of decline. I am
in denial, as I chase after them, one moment longer.

26 Mar 21 “Take Me Home” (LKN x SocietyX)

You carefully map out the borders
you plan to draw upon my body.

You mark the barrier I should not cross,
heavy white lines upon the brown of my chest.

My nipples arouse you as pass your hand
between my breasts, as you cleave me
with your paint, from neck to mons pubis,
creating perfect halves of East and West.

You waver a moment, your eyes contemplate
a foundation as your desire engineers its bearings
—brick by brick, arches rising and falling, an elegant
deck spans the distance and connects my dark areola.
Your imagination holding our shared bridge aloft
—-a breath’s intake—-
before you look away and let it topple,
repulsed and ashamed.