Maya Jacyszyn Meat
Never mind a place setting,
the head of the table has
never looked so limp.
Picture a bear,
absent of fur —
worm-like and pink.
Bare is your chair on
Tuesday evenings.
Where, is the question.
A log cabin for random hearts,
cliché and jazzy.
If you hear a saxophone,
it’s probably a saxophone.
Can’t anyone play bassoon?
Underused in the opus,
a composer settles for a
cheap motel room and way
too many trumpets.
Moss carpet
Piss-stained pillows
Golden showers and
Murder.
God forbid someone is
struck with a little
originality.
I don’t need a sexy slab
of meat and two baked
potatoes to feel welcome.
I’ll sit in this chair even if
you come back.
Turn this hot seat into
something worthy of an
ass.
Fruit Fly
With each sound
wave the mortar
leaks concrete
crumbles and I
sweep the snow
every time.
My heart thrums
no fire sign, only
peach fuzz and
powdered sugar like
a glass-blown bowl
printed with cherries
and pheromones.
Blessed be the
fruit fly that
homed itself in
pectin; angry bird
slingshot whip
nicked his life
quick, but in
the instance his
toothpick feet
landed first on
your skin,
I’d be damned to
have chopped
a fellow lover
of your sweet,
sweet fever.
Maya Jacyszyn is a multi-published poet and the Associate Director of Neumann University’s Writing Center. She received her bachelor’s degree at Saint Joseph’s University where she also served as Editor-in-Chief of the literary magazine titled, Crimson & Gray. More recently, her work is featured in the Sigma Tau Delta Rectangle, The Ignatian Literary Magazine, Prime Number Magazine, and Quibble Lit, among others.
Why we chose these pieces: Maya’s voice is phenomenal. Her diction and rhythm are so rich and tight; reading her work is like biting into a free-association surrealist fudge brownie. Lovely.
