Tag Archives: Jen Karetnick

Jen Karetnick

Jen Karetnick is the author of three full-length books of poetry, including American Sentencing (Winter Goose Publishing, May 2016) and The Treasures That Prevail (Whitepoint Press, September 2016), as well as four poetry chapbooks. She is the winner of the 2015 Anna Davidson Rosenberg Prize for Poetry and runner-up for the 2015 Atlantis Prize and 2016 Stephen A. DiBiase Poetry Prize. Her work has been published recently or is forthcoming in TheAtlantic.com, december, Guernica, Negative Capability, One, Painted Bride Quarterly, Prairie Schooner and Spillway. The Creative Writing Director for Miami Arts Charter School and a freelance dining critic, lifestyle journalist and cookbook author, she lives on the last acre of a historic plantation with her husband, two teenagers, three dogs, three cats and fourteen mango trees.

 

Refrain for Rooftop Season

When the winds cease to Sousa around transoms
and piccolo suns melt embrasures into clouds,
the bees, no beats to waste, warm up their hums
and spiders pizzicato their mesh shrouds

in search of mates. Poco a poco, buds
break, crackle through the crust of last year’s scum
in pots on the rooftop we scrub with suds
when the winds cease to Sousa around transoms.

The dun of walls in catalog rooms,
we are a ragged quartet of city reeds,
grateful for the allegro impatiens
and piccolo suns melting embrasures into clouds,

the miniature maracas of seed pods
we percuss from their skins, those tight-lipped drums,
into the calore of a raindrop’s pout.
The bees, no beats to waste, warm up their hums,

eager to bow against saffron pistons.
The children run on malachite stems, plowed
into tar – two half notes, a measured sum,
like spiders who pizzicato their mesh shrouds.

 

Miami: 10 Things You Don’t Know About Me

I leap tall tales in a single bound.
My oceans are a pachanga, held fermata.
The ghosts who haunt me never take a vacation.
I welcome the invaders of all my bodies.

My oceans are a pachanga, held fermata.
My winds make no ladylike edits.
I welcome the invaders of all my bodies.
I give you the right to be forgotten.

My winds make no ladylike edits.
My disabilities will also become yours.
I give you the right to be forgotten.
The only language I recognize is my own.

My disabilities will also become yours.
You may find that I am a shifting foundation.
The only language I recognize is my own.
Upheaval takes solid root in me.

You may find that I am a shifting foundation.
I welcome the invaders of my body.
Upheaval takes solid root in me.
I leap tall tales in a single bound.