Cherry-emily / JSA Lowe

$ 7.00


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.

-Norman Dubie

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.

-Tim Ramick



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.




from Cherry-emily.


  1. Poison-maid.


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

what is


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.