Michaelsun Stonesweat Knapp and Natalie Morales

Michaelsun Stonesweat Knapp

Venice on the Second

it’s twenty eight hours shy of July Fourth,

in Venice, by way of the 10 freeway, 

and the sky groans in its sleep

with premature fireworks and

electricity running relay races on telephone wires.

In this city by the sea,

in the parking lot of a Ralphs,

a homeless dog is tied to a shopping cart collector

and alternates saying first, “Save me,”

but then “Go away.

I listen, eating a peanut-butter cup

I’ve gotten for being a good boy;

sit on the hood of mother’s Toyota Sienna,

which both looks and drives like a whale,

and after considering the dog’s requests

I turn to him and reply

“No,”

and he hushes-up and lays down

until he’s picked up by a man

who isn’t a homeowner either.

Bio: I am a 22 year old, Native American, college graduate from the Los Angeles area. I have been published in In Somnis Veritas, Creepy Gnome, and will be in the upcoming editions of Carnivalitmag.com as well as California State University San Bernandino's newpaper The Coyote Chronicle.

 NATALIE MORALES

For Kathleen

Some people would rather you stay with the abusive boyfriend

who demanded seventy-five hundred dollars

in return for your life

who bought you birthday gifts with your money

because he’s a chivalrous motherfucker

who put a cigarette out on your face

since the ash tray was full.

God would rather you use your soul

to carry around demons

like an old suitcase

Pastor would rather you batter-ram your emotions

into a sardine can

on the tip of a pinhead.

But let me tell you

—sister—

who you are is fine with me.

And let me tell you

—sister—

the caged bird doesn’t sing.

You’re a peacock, not a parrot

—sister—

so let your wings breathe.