Megan Giller (2 poems)


Instructions for Revolution

The artists will suggest murals of beet’s blood,
and the poets will pick a love poem
to someone named Cecilia.
The editors will offer only semicolons.

Ignore them.
Write “10:48” across billboards.
Carve the numbers
with a knife, stencil them
on stone walls and stovetops.

Smear it with lipstick
across mirrors.  Pencil it in
other people’s dayplanners.
Circle it twice.

Whisper it to strangers
as you walk down the street.  Leave it
on napkins in coffee
shops, jot it on crosswords.

They will start to wonder.

They will file out of their office buildings,
drop their doughnuts to the floor
in a rush to the street.

Stores will shut down, employees entranced
by the crowd outside.  Drivers will quit
their cars in the road,
leaving doors opened
to the flood.

The sounds of the city will stop
like a bomb.


Solace (n.)

1. comfort in sorrow, misfortune, or distress; consolation.  2. a
source of comfort or consolation.  3.  something sought in strangers’
faces.  4.  a busdriver’s smile, a librarian’s smirk.  5.  these
people offer us a forgetful protection.  6.  from ourselves.  7.  from
the sounds of quiet apartments, dark minds.  8.  we must remember the
sol.  9.  sole, soul.


poetry by Megan Giller

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