Sunday, October 27, 2024

J.P. DANCING BEAR—"TRAP TEOP TRAP FLOW" (Issue 28)

TRAP TEOP TRAP FLOW
for Ruth Awad 

Today on your birthday, 
I told several people seeking advice 
to read your work. Not because, 
but because I didn't know, at the time, 
it being your anniversary howl. 

My people dreamed of stately swans 
floating across dreamcatcher 
ponds who were themselves ancient people. 
When I was a child, a bear came to me, 

and in my sleep it nudged me awake, 
and breathed into my mouth. Now I confess 
my words, my words, my tongue are hers. 
She still comes in between worlds, comes 

and looks down at me, much as you do, 
in that photo, the one where behind 
you, on swan-white paper, float the words, 
traP 
teoP 
traP 
floW 

Yes. It is the look of one who knows 
this world is a forest trail, cutting, 
winding its way down to water, down 
to a face made of tears.



ABOUT THE POET 

J.P. Dancing Bear is editor of Verse Daily. He is the author of sixteen 
collections of poetry, most recently, Of Oracles and Monsters (Glass Lyre 
Press, 2020), and Fish Singing Foxes (Salmon Poetry, 2019). His work has 
appeared in hundreds of venues.



ABOUT SUGAR HOUSE REVIEW 


We loved reading the work that we’ve published (clearly), and we want an 
opportunity to better hear our contributors. We're featuring audio recordings of 
poems from our pages, read by the poet. This an open invitation to all contributors 
from any of our issues, we were delighted to print your work, now we’re eager to 
hear it.

Sunday, October 13, 2024

SETH HAGEN—"ONE OF US" (Issue 28)

ONE OF US

One of us is drunk, and one of us is lying–
if love is a temple, it’s got spiders and a curse. 
Maybe we won’t work it out, but we’re trying. 

Us still swims luminous in my mind, 
an embryo in its egg, candled and obscure— 
O.K., one of us is drunk, and one of us is lying. 

You said, “Hold that thought. I’m buying,” 
pleated a twenty you plucked from your purse. 
Were we working it out? Were we even trying? 

You swung on the surface in the glass of wine. 
“I remember our first bed. Now there are no more firsts.” 
Someone must be drunk. Someone must be lying. 

You asked me if love was just crust, salt rime 
on rock when the lies burned off from lust– 
so maybe we won’t work it out, but I’m trying. 

Let us kneel to its Form in faith or in science: the
voice of a virgin, black holes, a fifth force 
What if one of us is drunk and one of us lying? 
Maybe we won’t work it out, but love is trying.



ABOUT THE POET 

Seth Hagen has works forthcoming in DIAGRAM. He has published in the fields 
of literary study and tax law. He lives in Atlanta, GA, where he teaches English.



ABOUT SUGAR HOUSE REVIEW 


We loved reading the work that we’ve published (clearly), and we want an 
opportunity to better hear our contributors. We're featuring audio recordings of 
poems from our pages, read by the poet. This an open invitation to all contributors 
from any of our issues, we were delighted to print your work, now we’re eager to 
hear it.

BETSY MITCHELL MARTINEZ—"BUILDING L: LOS DANANTES" (Issue 28)

BUILDING L: LOS DANANTES

I’m tired of speaking the language 
of my dreams, with its childhood rhymes 
and tidepools, its bulbs exploding 
on schedule into clusters of grape 
hyacinths. Let’s order brides on the internet 
and shape our mouths into fruits 
or kitchen utensils. Isn’t the weather 
fine today? Would you like some sugar 
in your coffee? When we visited 
the ancient Zapotec city, we crouched 
in the temple of los danzantes and studied 
the curves of naked men presumed 
by early anthropologists to be bent 
in dance. We now believe them to be 
corpses, genitals replaced with 
flowery scrolls. This is what I mean 
when I talk about dancing. 



ABOUT THE POET 

Betsy Michtell Martinez received an MFA from the University of 
Michigan. Her poems have appeared in The Northwest Review and Crab 
Orchard Review.



ABOUT SUGAR HOUSE REVIEW 


We loved reading the work that we’ve published (clearly), and we want an 
opportunity to better hear our contributors. We're featuring audio recordings of 
poems from our pages, read by the poet. This an open invitation to all contributors 
from any of our issues, we were delighted to print your work, now we’re eager to 
hear it.