Items related to Emergency Brake (Wrolstad Contemporary Poetry)

Emergency Brake (Wrolstad Contemporary Poetry) - Softcover

Madievsky, Ruth

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9781935635536: Emergency Brake (Wrolstad Contemporary Poetry)

Synopsis

Poetry. 2015 Wrolstad Contemporary Poetry Series selection.

"Go ahead, try all you want pulling on Ruth Madievsky's emergency brake--but just remember it won't do you any good. This will be the most exciting and inventive first book you have read in years, and this poet's take-no-prisoners attitude makes for an ecstatic joyride. These deeply moving poems reflect the raw darkness paring at the edges of our lives, and they reveal how that dark can sometimes move to the very centers of our being. Sexy, irreverent, sorrowful, thrilling--the poems of EMERGENCY BRAKE become a young woman's survival manual for the Twenty-First Century: ignore it at your own peril."--David St. John

"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.

About the Author

Ruth Madievsky was born in Moldova and currently lives in Los Angeles. Her work has appeared in Blackbird, Gulf Coast, Prairie Schooner, Rattle, West Branch, ZYZZYVA, and elsewhere. Madievsky was a 2015 Tin House Scholar in Poetry and is a chapbook reader for Gold Line Press. She is also a doctoral student at USC's School of Pharmacy and a research assistant at an HIV clinic specializing in maternal care in Downtown Los Angeles. Emergency Brake is Tavern Books' 2015 Wrolstad Contemporary Poetry Series selection.

From the Inside Flap

CACTUS

I'm sitting beside a cactus in a stranger's backyard,
trying to remember the last time
I celebrated something that wasn't a holiday.
I'd like to call last night a celebration,
how the sheets drew around us like a prom dress,
how my fingers were out partying all night
in the disco of your mouth.Anyone who says
they don't want to be celebrated
is lying. We all want champagne corks
praising each slip knot
of the tongue, each the launch code
for another bottle rocket to fire,
streaking across the sky
the way a peeled dress slices the dark.
I'm stroking the cactus between its quills,
wondering when was the last time
the man whose house I am renting was celebrated,
when someone last took him
in her mouth. Years from now,
when we've walked out of all our photos,
we will remember the doves we coaxed
from each other's throats,
blood and sunlight, the neck an altar,
how we took each other like barbiturates.

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