Drop Your Coins From The Skyscraper of Love

By MELISSA STUDDARD

And if you have no coins or skyscraper,
then parachute from your mind into blossom,

and if you have no parachute or mind,
then walk three times around a burning fire

and if you have no fire in your foot, invite
the shut-eyed horse to rest on your shoulder.

I have no blossom, no shoulder.
Just the bookshelf where I file myself

between fantasy and theory. If I
come to you late with the moon in my hair,

un-shelf me, pour me a martini made of wind.

Melissa Studdard is the author of two poetry collections, I Ate the Cosmos for Breakfast and Dear Selection Committee. Her work has been featured in outlets such as PBS, NPR, The New York Times, The Guardian, and the Academy of American Poets’ Poem-a-Day series. Her awards include The Penn Review’s Poetry Prize, the Tom Howard Prize from Winning Writers, the Lucille Medwick Memorial Award from the Poetry Society of America, and more.

[Purchase Issue 23 Here.]

Drop Your Coins From The Skyscraper of Love

Related Posts

Chinese Palace

Portfolio from China: Poetry Feature I

LI ZHUANG
In your fantasy, the gilded eaves of Tang poked at the sun. / In their shadow, a phoenix rose. / Amid the smoke of burned pepper and orchids, / the emperor’s favorite consort twirled her long sleeves. / Once, in Luo Yang, the moon and the sun shone together.

Xu sits with Grandma He, the last natural heir of Nüshu, and her two friends next to her home in Jiangyong. Still from Xu’s documentary film, “Outside Women’s Café (2023)”. Image courtesy of the artist.

Against This Earth, We Knock

JINJIN XU
The script takes the form of a willow-like text, distinctive from traditional Chinese text in its thin shape and elegance. Whenever Grandma He’s grandmother taught her to write the script, she would cry, as if the physical act of writing the script is an act of confession.

a photo of raindrops on blue window glass

Portfolio from China: Poetry Feature II

YUN QIN WANG 
June rain draws a cross on the glass.  / Alcohol evaporates.  / If I come back to you,  / I can write. My time in China  / is an unending funeral.  / Nobody cried. The notebook is wet.