 Arlington Literary Journal an ejournal also known as ArLiJo, is located in Arlington, Virginia and is sponsored by Gival Press. The intent of ArLiJo is to feature a variety of authors/poets/artists from around the globe whose work provokes readers to contemplate issues, etc. The work chosen promotes understanding and sensitivity across borders, even if initially the work may cause one to take a double-take. Staff: Editor-in-Chief, Robert L. Giron Associate Editor, Sarah Fannon ArLiJo has reverted to a publication by invitation only. Any work published shall remain the property of the author/poet/artist and for any previously published work to appear the author/poet/artist must still retain the copyright of the work. Please note that ArLiJo is an ejournal. Payment for publication is a book from a selection of books published by Gival Press. |
Catee Baugh Featured on www.ArLiJo.com Maenad You put love into your mouth Just like grapes. You take the soft And pliant skin between your teeth To rip it open. There’s no malice- Just a true pleasure in explosions. Your frenzied mind Is ripped open To birth dreams And deliriums for others. Love to you is just A delicacy, a balm To make you forget The definition of “wound.” Broken though you are, Drunk with sorrow and sex- Which always purges less Than you think it should- We will dance again Stomp, stomp on the grapes. In blood and grappa We will dance again And you With hardened feet and Wide soft hands Will mash your lover’s heart Until it opens. Copyright © 2010 by Catee Baugh. Exhibitionist Touch is a pleasure Making me yelp- After pushing all my caustic emotions Up to the pores of my skin and Watching them leak out, I realize now I am a burn victim And to touch me is to touch The skin of an atomic survivor. But pain is both poison and antidote, A vaccine against the ordinary. So for you, I will expose myself And all my defenses and pretensions, Though not pretending Their removal is easy or safe. They are duct-tape band-aids Tearing away the hair And meager portions of singed skin When I yank them off To the tune of my Screaming laughter So that you might see thin ribbons Of muscle and vein under my superficial layers While I laugh at the infection seeping in. Yes, there is something Masochistic in my sullen art. And I remember all those muttered words From the mouths of teachers about “Narrator as imagined construct in poem.” But I would rather be Slit open and displayed On iron tables in museum hallways With my very intestines hanging off, Dripping onto the feet of passerby, And they pulling off my skin like burnt offerings Than be a masked and painted actor on a stage, Only there to forget my made-up lines. Copyright © 2010 by Catee Baugh. Lover I can make out the point where Your pale blue irises Plunge and dissolve Into your inky pupils And on the skin framing my eyes I am graced by the delicate brush Of your knuckles. Your sweat saturates my bed, The salt water of your body planted between The threads of my sheets. I find the skin of our backs Synthesized when we wake, The combination of man and woman Is as natural, easy and unsuspected As our bodies’ covering Becoming dust. My wrist, your neck. Your head, my shoulder. The joining of these places producing Responses of relief and frenzy Tucked away under the skin. Flashes of your hair between Glimpses of my bedroom ceiling And its purple walls. Our long breaths shivering Almost in unison. Look me right In the eye when . . . A cherry tree shudders outside. Petals scattered by gasps of air Sink and dissolve. Copyright © 2010 by Catee Baugh. Woman Women’s bodies were thought to produce more fluids than men’s bodies, and as a result women were often described as “leaky vessels” unable to control or contain the flow of blood, urine, tears, and milk – Gail Kern Paster. I am leaking My own insides and emotions. But this is not a defect, Some hole in the design Making the world unclean. Instead I am both the bearer And the libation, Pouring out milk, wine and honey. And though my sisters and I Have been ignored We do not clutch our gifts in our hands In order to be noticed, But instead use them, Forcing the world to notice us By flooding it. This is not a lack of anything. This is saturation. And remember God too spills out Into all of us in the form of Spirit. And though we once had to take The names of our fathers Or the men we chose We are now naming ourselves, And have created more titles Than the simple “Mary” and “slut.” And though we were once restricted To one metaphor per poem And could not even stretch our fingers Inside the rooms of our art We now seek not a conceit to structure our words But the cosmos to push them open. For “either or” phrases shaped people too long And shoved the beauty of synthesis Under the dirt. But now we have tended those lost weeds And let them cover the temples’ marble pillars With spiky-petaled flowers. Now we will provide the world With bouquets of options. No, we are not just mothers and monsters now. I might be Medusa But you can look me in the eye- I was always laughing, not killing. Those stones and snakes were just metaphors. So welcome me, your dismantler. I remove the robe Which has clung burning to your skin And blinded you. I douse it with my libations And take the scissors of my grandmothers To cut your cloak into blankets And swaddle the cold world. For we are no longer angry, Simply because there is more rebellion In our laughter and dance Than there could ever be In our shouting. I do not need to seek my answers In the eyes of others. They have always been there, Scratched into the pads of my feet, And if I tango the resolutions Of the old dichotomy will be stamped On the earth. Watch me drown this defamation And rise in thanks To God and the Holiest Spirit That I have two X’s Repeating themselves through My trillions of cells so that My poems might reiterate And enthrall you, Inviting you to join our celebration, Our dance in the floodwaters, From our grail overflowing. Copyright © 2010 by Catee Baugh. Biography: Catee Baugh was born in Washington, D.C. and with the exception of eight years spent in Florida as a toddler and college student, has lived her entire life in Northern Virginia. She is currently a senior at Eckerd College in St. Petersburg, Florida, who has just completed her thesis Labels, a self-portrait through response to the labels given to her by herself and others. Exhibitionis and Woman come from that thesis. Holly Berardi Featured on www.ArLiJo.com A Deeper Look into Negative Campaigning Please click on the link below to access the essay: A Deeper Look into Negative Campaingning Biography: Holly Berardi is currently attending Montgomery College and is a member of the Renaissance Scholars Honors Program as well as Phi Theta Kappa. In addition to working on her associate's degree she is working on obtaining certificates in multimedia production and electronic photography. She was selected to attend Cambridge University’s International Summer School Programme in England and extended her travels to Ireland, Barcelona, Paris, and Costa Rica. At Montgomery College, she was nominated for the Portz Award and came in second as the Top Honors Student in the state of Maryland. She is a student member of the Board for the Maryland Collegiate Honors Council (MCHC). She won the Upper Level English Award and had poetry published in the Red Jacket Literary Magazine. The essay A Deeper Look into Negative Campaigning is published in the online journal Student Writings in the Disciplines and won the Communications Award at the Beacon’s Conference for honors students. |
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