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    When Links / Blanks / Puzzles Linger
    When Links / Blanks / Puzzles Linger
    When Links / Blanks / Puzzles Linger
    Ebook89 pages46 minutes

    When Links / Blanks / Puzzles Linger

    By Jennifer Schneider

    ()

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    About this ebook

    This participatory, interactive collection of experimental poetry is designed to promote and provoke reflection and revision, and to push back against categorizations as a matter of form or otherwise.


    The forms reflect bits and pieces of story wrapped into all aspects of our lives. I hope you will enjoy this collection, dedicated to those who question, wonder and continue to strive to fill in the missing blanks.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherNext Chapter
    Release dateMar 20, 2022
    When Links / Blanks / Puzzles Linger
    Author

    Jennifer Schneider

    Jennifer Schneider lives and works in New York City. She has an MFA from the University of Wyoming. She writes with her brother often; this is their first published project together.

    Read more from Jennifer Schneider

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      Book preview

      When Links / Blanks / Puzzles Linger - Jennifer Schneider

      14 REASONS WHY LINKS LINGER, LATHER, AND LOVE

      she slid into the driver side passenger seat after he collected reams of hand-written notes and torn newspaper clippings. His hair long, past his neck. His fingers short and squat. Her long and ringed. Gold and silver bands on right and left pointers. She asked if the writings were his. Not now, he replied. I’d prefer to talk.

      his right hand turned the key, then the motor and the old volvo coughed. He hiccupped. She sneezed. Layers of dust rose, then dissipated in the small pockets of air between the glass panes. Allergies and allergens, everywhere.

      a tiny bunny hid behind the car’s front right tire. Stray greens offered nourishment. Stray pickups offered shade. He opened a bag of lays chips. She inhaled the mix of salt, grease, and oil.

      his hand held evidence of garage grease and engine tune-ups. Her hand held his.

      they spoke of a future full of life. Backyard bunnies. Red robins. Blue jays. Hand knit blankets. Babies.

      the bunny hopped to safety and the car hummed. He coughed. Prescient and precious puffs of air.

      they spent their summer in tank tops and cut offs. Filled notebooks in grassy meadows that hugged concrete lots. They hugged each other, drunk on young love and a yearning for life. Her shoulders marked of tan lines and strength. His chest marked of invisible timelines and diminishing strength

      his cough consumed more and more daytime minutes, even as minutes of daylight dwindled.

      she urged cautions and care. Not all coughs are allergies. Not all allergies amenable to silence

      he urged silence. Turned the radio dial to the right. Played tunes. Played lottery.

      she brought sweet lemonade and sour suckers. Red. Green. Blue. Muffin full of oats, fresh berries, and love. Homemade.

      he tired. She tried. Both filled notebooks to fill time. And find futures.

      in the future, she sleeps alone. In a volvo in a gravel lot under an early morning sky.

      a red robin sits on the front hood. A blue jay lingers in a nearby tree. Sweet tunes play. The radio dial on.

      ON PASSING, CHANCES, AND LINKS THAT LINGER

      I passed on the second serving of blueberry cheesecake because at the time I was told that calories were dangerous. Dark chocolate éclair. Dipped cannoli. Strawberry cream pie, too. Daggers to a destiny written in indelible ink. Then, when I got another chance at the three-tiered glass bakery, I decided that it was never the recipes that were dangerous. It was the cook.

      The flavor of love

      The flavor of loathing

      The scent of a welcoming kitchen

      The scent of a warning

      Another word for scolding.

      Another word for scalding.

      Another word for skidding.

      The weight of a feather

      The weight of a fulcrum

      The color of joy

      The color of disdain

      A favored day of the weekend

      There are two sides to every pancake. Two flavors, too. _1_ and _2_. Some days are layered of _3_, while others are heavy with _4_. Tuesdays. Wednesdays. __12__, too. Steam lingers – in the small pockets of air between consumption and desire / love and loathing / weathering and wondering. Weekdays turned weekends. Wicked winds blow. Words cut. Strings of letters - _5_, _6_, and _7_ weave strands into ropes that bind. _8_ kisses scar. _9_ eyes sting. Rainbows of _10_ fade. Blankets of _11_ come into focus. Ovens sizzle while flour and water blend. Not all recipes reap rewards. Not all cooks render realities. Mirrors melt under hot glass. Pancakes flip.

      Question recipe-driven motivations. Fear not kitchen explorations. Enjoy second helpings. Heaping platters of inquiry-driven exploration. Flavors of near and far lands. Lessons linked through tea and tablespoons. Second chances,

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