• Skip to primary navigation
  • Skip to main content
  • Skip to primary sidebar
  • Skip to footer

MAYDAY

  • Culture
  • Interviews
  • Reviews
  • Nonfiction
    • Contests
  • Translation
  • Fiction
  • Poetry
  • About
    • Submit
      • Contests
      • Contest Winners
      • MAYDAY:Black
    • Open Positions
    • Masthead
    • Contributors

Threeple, Tripple
by Kelly R. Samuels

December 5, 2022 Contributed By: Kelly R. Samuels

"Forêt de Compiègne" by Berthe Morisot (1885) from the Art Institute of Chicago
Forêt de Compiègne by Berthe Morisot (1885) from the Art Institute of Chicago

           Cumbria: gentle sound made by a quick-flowing stream

The traffic always was just outside the bank of windows
                                      and down and could be heard
more than seen for the trees that spring and early summer.

We would lie in the bed pushed to the sill and look out on
only leaves that I swear were yellow and catch
                          what sounded beneath their susurration

and not want to rise to go anywhere—not east on the parkway to
the highway, to the shift that felt endless.

             We would turn. You would turn. I would turn—.

Shadows of branches cast on the one wall and sway.


KELLY R. SAMUELS is the author of the full-length collection All the Time in the World (Kelsay Books) and two chapbooks: Words Some of Us Rarely Use and Zeena/Zenobia Speaks. She is a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee with work appearing in The Massachusetts Review, RHINO, Court Green, The Tusculum Review, and The Pinch. She lives in the Upper Midwest.

Filed Under: Featured Poetry, Poetry Posted On: December 5, 2022

Further Reading

THE MEANING OF THE SEA by Alexander Vvedensky (translated by Alex Cigale)

to understand it once and for all one must live life as in reverse and to take walks in the forest while tearing out your hair whole and when you get to know the fire of the light bulb or of the oven say to it why are you shining you the fire are candle’s […]

Brother/Sister by Kyle Muntz

///1/// The Father was cutting wood in the yard. He’d been crying for hours. A few times, the Sister came out, and stood with her head tilted to the side. She said, It’s alright, life really isn’t so bad, when you think about it, and Don’t worry, the winds are coming, the clouds are going away, but he didn’t say anything […]

What I Know about My Mother
by Graham Guest

(1)        I know she was born on January 19, 1923, and she will die in the Fall of 2008, at eighty- five years old. (2)        I know she was originally from New Jersey, maybe near Teaneck. (3)        I know there was a black and white photograph taken of her naked on a leopard-skin rug in […]

Primary Sidebar

Recently Published

  • Inside the Kaleidoscope
    by Jane O. Wayne
  • Two Poems by Luis Alberto de Cuenca
    translated from the Spanish by Gustavo Pérez Firmat
  • I Hope Your Birthday Is So Beautiful, It Hurts to Look at It
    by Josette Akresh-Gonzales
  • Concerning My Daughter by Kim Hye-jin
    translated from the Korean by Jamie Chang,
    reviewed by Jacqueline Schaalje
  • Verge
    by William Cordeiro

Trending

  • Eight Contemporary Female Irish Artists to Fall In Love With Immediately
    by Aya Kusch
  • Sellouts 1970: Love Story: The Year a Screenplay-Turned-Novel Almost Broke the National Book Award
    by Kirk Sever
  • George Saunders on A Swim in a Pond in the Rain
    by Brianna Di Monda
  • Cool Uncle
    by Emmett Knowlton
  • I Hope Your Birthday Is So Beautiful, It Hurts to Look at It
    by Josette Akresh-Gonzales
  • I Know Who Orville Peck Is
    by Robin Gow
  • This field is for validation purposes and should be left unchanged.

Footer

  • Facebook
  • Instagram
  • Twitter

Business


Reprint Rights
Privacy Policy
Archive

Engage


Open Positions
Donate
Contact Us

Copyright © 2023 · New American Press

  • This field is for validation purposes and should be left unchanged.