JANUARY 12, 2019 POETRY IN THE BREW

January’s Second Saturday Open Mic Poetry Reading

Located at:
Portland Brew East
1921 Eastland Avenue
Nashville, TN 37206

Sign-up at 5:30
Reading starts at 6:00

January Feature Owen Flanagan

OwenFlanagan

 

Born in San Francisco and raised in Nashville, Owen Flanagan has received a scholarship to the Sewanee Young Writers Conference and is a member of the youth cohort of the Year at OZ program with The Porch and OZ Arts. He is currently at work on a debut collection of poems and a novel.

Read this new piece from Owen now, then meet us in the loft for the first Brew of 2019:


night of

Me and my father, a concert. A singer

In a white dress punctures eyes on fire

And lets leak their kerosene onto the floor

Of a stadium suspended in frenetic gold lights,

Billowing song. Real song. And from the stage

Greased with feet and their emptied amazement,

A singer in a white dress leans into a microphone

And tells her audience to hold hands

For this next one. Me and my father, I deign us

Always grammatically correct. We cannot be

Expunged from the unremarkable history

No one ever thought to write. Me and my father,

His balled fist refusing to be summited,

This ballad, writing its lyrics on every forehead,

Decidedly not for us. The night of October the third,

A month of shimmering nothing. What use

Is night of? If it’s this untidy curl into a poem,

Into undoing, wouldn’t night already be implied,

No need for disquieted lips? What use anyway,

I can’t remember what day it really was.  When he came back,

when we hurtled enough days into each other to make an inside joke,

When we started going to major life events

And not needing to make an acronym, a mneumonic device.

To remember. What use anyway, what is this yawp

You already knew?

We drove home and I didn’t forget. I didn’t have to.

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