Cherry-emily / JSA Lowe
dancing girl press, 2015
Voices divide to multiply in Lowe's brilliant poems, where a landscape can become an unlimited Punch & Judy neon marquee—here, the motives for speech, joining imagery, are moody and complicated, intelligent yet wildly memorable.
A powerful poem that pulls off the rare combination of being sexy and invoking David Jones' The Anathemata. Difficult, free-wheeling, personal, palpable, cheeky, irreverent, sacred, heartrending, mythic, and even geological (offering a topology of the body): it should be read and reread, if one has the stomach for it—as one must approach Genet.
JSA Lowe’s poetry has appeared most recently in Black Warrior Review, Chicago Review, DIAGRAM, Hobart, Third Coast, Salamander, Salt Hill Journal and Versal; her essays and reviews have been published in AGNI, Gulf Coast, and the Santa Fe Reporter. Another book, DOE, was printed as a limited-edition chapbook by Particle Series Press. Currently completing a PhD in poetry and literature at the University of Houston, she studied at Mount Holyoke College, University of Cambridge, Boston University, and Arizona State. She lives near Galveston with the cat Pyewacket.
Cherry-emily, in which oh baby see
how hard you make me.
Or maybe I just
made it up
Comes a prompt no matter how timid
as a cat rubs her nose on the sharp book corner
[And adorable, gold-dusted balls drawn up taut,
calling it a porno when we don’t say a scary ]
was red like a baboon’s ass,
exvoluted (wavery, the technical word for
having conch-shell rippled lips)
& fringed. She said wet velvet & the name stuck.
The language has turned
stupid even Jesus
would admit this
Oh lithium citrate syrup baby. Is
it hard and red
Do you want to touch it
If a Charms Blow-Pop isn’t
socialization then I don’t know
Oh yeah, it’s so good lover, Jesus
doesn’t mind this much of another
guy: from root to head, some black
vague hair, he can handily
imagine that it’s his.
In which, oh baby, cherry, Emily.