poem index

sign up to receive a new poem-a-day in your inbox

About this poet

Megan Fernandes in the author of The Kingdom and After (Tightrope Books, 2015). She is an assistant professor of English at Lafayette College and lives in New York City.

Quentin Compson at the Natural History Museum, Harvard University

You won’t have allergies here.
The flowers are made of glass,
your little spine will become a maple tree.
The orchids, posing like eavesdroppers—
they will make you their Queen.

We will make love on Russian glass,
pickled seeds, roots and stamens,
the translucent xylem of the flowers
pricking our spines.

Couldn’t you die here?
Don’t speak of Father.
Look to the cashew trees.

Remember the wild orchids in the New England wood?
Their veiny leaves and cuticles fresh with vanilla.
These are not fresh, but they inhale.
They can smell your minty breath,
they can bow to your sighs,
they will make soil of your shoulders
and grow you arms.

Caddy, surrounded by glass.
Caddy, surrounded by glass, a little tree inside her.
Caddy, surrounded by glass, smells like trees.

Couldn’t you die here, Caddy?
In all this glass?

Copyright © 2015 by Megan Fernandes. “Quentin Compson at the Natural History Museum, Harvard University” originally appeared in The Kingdom and After (Tightrope Books, 2015). Reprinted with permission of the author.

Copyright © 2015 by Megan Fernandes. “Quentin Compson at the Natural History Museum, Harvard University” originally appeared in The Kingdom and After (Tightrope Books, 2015). Reprinted with permission of the author.

Megan Fernandes

Megan Fernandes

Megan Fernandes in the author of The Kingdom and After (Tightrope Books, 2015). She is an assistant professor of English at Lafayette College and lives in New York City.

by this poet

poem

Sometimes the mythologies of a city are true—
like when I see a blond man bob for red apples
in the street selling records side by side with a black cat
wound in a cushion, deep in dream. Josh says
he does not want to go see Anne Frank, that this kind of tourism
depresses him, the one where

poem

In midsummer, in Los Angeles,
the night is fractured

with mountains, grilling ink
into the blue thaw. I trail

into pools and pastures,
and in the diner,

tattoos speck
and skirt up booths,

the waitress, Dottie, is whipping
shells, mac and cheese,

waffles and

poem

For Leia and Graham

Before he is sick, he surfs the Pacific.
After he is sick, his faint body is pulled
from the water just in time to know
something is expanding. Leia goes over.
Just as friends, she says.
She sleeps in his bed, makes coffee,
tackles the wild

2