You pray to the blue light house,
be alive, be lingering, dear beleaguered.
Trying to kiss under the cold waves
is the blue of distance.
Belong, here I am the hermit in the glass shell
at home with blue time.
The seat of the soul, the pineal gland, is thought
the seat of sleep. The light
of electronics turns the longing blue and
brings the loss of sleep.
As I pray to the blue light house,
you are the hermit creature in the glass shell.
About the Contributor
Julia Rose Lewis is earning her PhD at the University of Wales Trinity St David. When not in school, she lives on Nantucket Island and is a member of the Moors Poetry Collective. Her poems have appeared in their anthologies, Rasputin: A Poetry Thread, GTK, and 3am Magazine.
We, The Drowned - Carsten Jensen
I love that this book makes use of the first person plural and third person singular to describe the cumulative losses of a town over generations as well as families and individuals. From the title onward, the novel keeps the lost with the other characters and the reader, it saves them.
More from Issue Seven:
- Offshore Sakhalin Island by Hideko Sueoka
- She Looks (A Sestina) by Nicki Hastie
- Stigma by Abeer Ameer
- Lassaba by Lisa Kiew
- If Fong Has Already Been Born by Alberto Ramirez
- Aftermath by David Hanlon
- Mother by Georgina Norie
- Eating History by Clementine Ewokolo Burnley
- We Are Now Beginning Our Descent by Malcolm Devlin
- Setting Free the Spirits by Susmita Bhattacharya
- What Country’s This? by Alexandra Cocksworth
- BEatIn is just a snow blizzIard by Erkembode