Cave
My soul lowered by a thread into a cold lake inside a flooded mine shaft, five stories down, it felt like a color, not a sensation of temperature, if it were a color it was chartreuse. I called for a UFO to show itself and it presented as a plasma screen in the sky. A sensation like inhabiting a sealed can of wet and plastered grape leaves, it felt like moonlight inside a paint can. Please keep a lid on it lest it evaporate, lest it dissolve, like cave paintings destroyed by human breath. That day I felt a handprint on the inside, it felt like bruised ribs.
Brenda Coultas
Brenda reading the the 5th Speech is Not Free festival at the Sprechsaal Gallery in Berlin, Germany
Brenda Coultas is a bad ass poet and an amazing human. She supports other artists and has always been super generous with me, coming to my readings even before she knew me and I was in awe of her 🙂
Still am.
–mgt 28 October 2020, Berlin, Germany
She is the author of the poetry collections A Journal of Places (online, Metambesen Press, 2015), The Tatters (Wesleyan University Press, 2014), The Marvelous Bones of Time (Coffee House Press, 2007), and A Handmade Museum (Coffee House Press, 2003). Her poetry can be found in anthologies, including Readings in Contemporary Poetry: An Anthology (2017), What is Poetry (Just Kidding, I Know You Know): Interviews from the Poetry Project Newsletter (1983-2009) (2017), and Symmetries: Three Years of Art and Poetry at Dominique Levy (2017).
