Two Poems by April Salzano

Blackberry

The word blackberry is a bush, fat
with vowels, sharp with stinging
consonants.  Juice would run down
my throat like freedom and summer
if I could bury my hands in its brambles,
but ivy's got the window, locks have the doors.



I Will Walk the Road

heavy in my suit of skin,
unfortunate in my lack of logic.
I will carry my cracked compass,
my missing map to a place
neither named nor navigated.  I will find
it by inviting instinct.  Each element
will guide me as I move from earth to sky.



April Salzano teaches college writing in Pennsylvania where she lives with her husband and two sons.  She is currently working on a memoir on raising a child with autism and several collections of poetry.  Her work has been twice nominated for a Pushcart Prize and has appeared in journals such as Convergence, Ascent Aspirations, The Camel Saloon, Centrifugal Eye, Deadsnakes, Visceral Uterus, Salome, Poetry Quarterly, Writing Tomorrow and Rattle.  Her first chapbook, The Girl of My Dreams, is forthcoming in spring, 2015, from Dancing Girl Press.  The author serves as co-editor at Kind of a Hurricane Press (www.kindofahurricanepress.com)