5 Short Poems That Pack a Punch
One of the great things about poetry is how open it is—epic poems can run thousands of lines while others need just a handful of words to make an impact. Short poems pack a lot of meaning into just a few lines, and the feelings and images you’re left with will last long past the briefness of the read.
Here are five small poems from the BLR archive, in no particular order, that stir big emotions:
“The Oncologist” by Carole Stone
Do you have an appetite? No.
Are you anxious? Yes.
Irritable? Yes.
I hand in the questionnaire.
Instantly, a woman calls my name.
“You know we have counseling,”
she says cheerily. I nod.
“And a writing group.
Would you like to join?”
I imagine an unsharpened pencil,
and a blank page,
tell her, no. Is this denial?
“Nothing to say,” I tell her,
looking into her stranger’s eyes.
(Issue 28)
“Distribution” by Jenny Qi
Scatter my ashes in the ocean,
my father instructed,
as I cradled my mother’s in my lap.
I’d like to see the world.
(Issue 33)
“Attachment” by Sally Lipton Derringer
I don’t ask for much:
a few words,
a rented intimacy.
Even without the room,
her eyelids waiting to be closed,
you can imagine
the unmothering, its stark
perfection. You’ve occupied
these kinds of rooms, done your own
borrowing and giving back.
I don’t ask for much:
a conversation,
a form of permanence that I
can hold until it’s gone.
(Issue 22)
“Divination” by Stacy Nigliazzo
I dressed her wound
after the biopsy,
a scarlet braid
laced with black thread.
She was alone, but spoke of her father at her bedside
attending a bowl of water and sand,
pulling out stars.
He pinned them in her hair and stayed
until I cut the suture.
(Issue 24)
“I Never Saw a Wild Thing Sorry for Itself” by Yael Hacohen
When your CO singles you out in Krav Maga,
you’d better throw a punch, little girl.
Make your fist sing its soft goddamn
smashing into the bridge of his nose.
He’ll bob and weave, take out his clip
and whack it right into your skull. Don’t cry.
Not even in the barracks. Not even now.
(Issue 29)