Bianca Stewart, USA

"on those who assume"

they say i am such an odd girl

always writing poems about the boulevard

where night discovers me

time & time again

with my back pressed into cool air

humming to cover the silence

loneliness leaves

after it breaks in with its army of sighs

& ransacks my apartment

they never catch me on good days

when i am twirling inside

the sunlit corners of joy

skirt raised

hair adorned with blossoms

laughing at my own inability

to take in hems

& make pinto beans taste flavorful

to them i am the blues

that lilted in billie's throat

each time love stole away

with her beautiful things

a sad news article

dampening to transparency

as rain beats down on it

& pavement

==

"misty saturday"

you are at home    asleep

not far from san francisco    where summer

has unpacked & hugged everyone    she will be a

thick girl

spread wide over the city    when i arrive in late

july

carrying a suitcase    pocket change    & dried

mangoes

during a street fair    alive with music

we'll become ten o'clock news    kissing shamelessly

over blueberry cotton candy    before driving

to a countryside motel    where love is made simple

but it is early morning here    on the east coast

raining in a town that's never heard your laughter 

 & i am

writing this poem    to keep from crying

myself weightless

==

"the muse"

while u stood over the stove

folding eggs & burning english muffins

audre's ghost walked her thin

transparent self through the front door

as if she lived here once

& needed something upstairs    like a poem

or letter    written for someone who refuses

to lie down in death    without knowing

if love existed at all

while u sat down to a midnight breakfast

audre told me he had been watching all day

from someplace nearby    that bore no consequence to

her visit

but claimed the apple tree out front

was a fine    sweet-smelling thing   & very sturdy  

she went on to say how selfish i must be    not to

mention blind

to sit in the laps of poems    when u were just a

room away

beaming with inspiration

==

"an objection to being no real thing of want"

a moth flaps her wings on the corner of my smile

i am no flame    but reasonably attractive.

right away you become drawn

an outline of charcoal pressed against thin air

top teeth on botton lip    knees joined in ache.

it is insulting to be one's afterthought

unworthy    until pursued by another.

but art is my weakness    & you    dear

are everything matisse wanted to create

but missed out on.

turn yourself into a motion picture

and show me what i already know   

that once the moth flies away

you    too    will be just another thing

that made my mouth quiver.

==

Bio:

Bianca Stewart is a writer, painter, pencil-artist, & all around free-spirit who hails from the swift undersides of new jersey. she has published poetry & fiction, & is now looking to bring more paintings into the world. in the coming years she hopes to create something wonderful (every day!), for she feels there's nothing more transcendent than art-