Posts Tagged ‘Jenna Cardinale’

Or When the Police Come

October 25, 2010 Comments off

by Jenna Cardinale

With the new world cornered, we can
better appreciate the laxity
of the Sabbath. Here the drummer
who sits on the drum does not play
for you.

But the women—turbans twisted on
in the required colors—
dance until the streets
are black.

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Jenna Cardinale is the author of Journals, a chapbook from Coconut. She lives in New York, where she often writes poems about New Orleans.

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Museum’s Aftermath

April 26, 2009 Comments off

The silk shuddered, coughed
& collapsed upon the vinyl.

Amidst the costumed dragons,
I look for bones and party

favors— The origami map
is crestfallen. Lounging

terribly amidst signature
tattoos, the faded hearts

and hula girl
bleed into their alluring

landscape—a synecdoche—
formed and torn and built

over, shinier than skyscrapers,
pliant as candy. Trails

of fingerprints meander
over discarded spikes,

twisting into cursive
along the nape, tres-

passing’s elaborate script.

by Jenna Cardinale and Bruce Covey

For process notes, see “Cling.”


April 14, 2009 Comments off

Discovered a concrete way to buy clothes?
A way to wear an abstraction—

A way to paint beneath the skin—
But cotton inoculates us

against this attempt,
100%, crisscrossed, & mercerized

horizon to prophylactic horizon.
Across each tight stitch, each

carbonated step
presses its sheet & fancies

a speck of latent illustration.
Bowing to the appeal of pleats,

the frayed & loose pattern
soft petals off of its graph,

an occasional pocket
holding a spring

sets its self off.

by Jenna Cardinale and Bruce Covey

Process notes

We decided to write a series of poems in which collaborative shifts occurred in cross-current from the poem’s couplet structure. One of us began with a single line; the other completed the couplet then began a new couplet. In each case the titles came last.

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