Posts Tagged: Carmen Giménez Smith

National Poetry Month Day 18: “My Brother” by Carmen Gimenez Smith


My Brother

My brother _is__ a savior
who can torpedo
through privilege with an artistic stun gun
he’s a tempest saturating the city

He makes a scar
in the earth_ draws out
an admixture of folklore
and animus_ plus
a pinch of_ worry from our
adolescent miseries
so he can build_ endless
self-perpetuation_ literally
with big red bricks

This he does with
our so-called inheritance

We once walked
on our father’s periphery
looking in like_ the matchstick

We walked the edge of our houses
to find ___a warm window
Was it there
It wasn’t

the self-preservation__ that hunger
and fear __made of me
a bewitching hybrid of
broken coat trees and orbital
chair and door_ king_ choir
maybe _____that _elemental
of fading into____ the wallpaper
We’re still looking
plush with hunger

My brother speaks
the cloud’s patois
a clatter ___calm ___medium        loosens
a grip wears
on the surface____ of his planet
I said anything
I walked far away
I left my brother behind

More tenderness
might have made us_____ better
failure without the sting

we might have found
magic and known
its transport

the instability was the brutal
______grief of one tornado

-Carmen Giménez Smith


Poetry Book Club News


Our April poet, Carmen Giménez Smith, was featured on NPR’s NewsPoet series. (NewsPoet has featured Rumpus Poetry Book Club poet and recent Pulitzer Prize winner Tracy K. Smith as well.) Check it out.

And if you’d like to become a member of the Poetry Book Club–we’re talking about Rowan Ricardo Phillips’s collection The Ground right now–click here.


National Poetry Month Day 6: “The First Kiss” by Carmen Giménez Smith


Welcome to The Rumpus’s National Poetry Month project. We’ll be running a new poem from a different poet each day for the month of April.

The First Kiss

the first kiss was memento mori the second one aspiration the third
the fourth       a posture            the fifth a neurosis       the sixth was