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Bruised Petals

Longing, Reflection and Celebration in Prose & Verse

 

Postal Poetry

In my girlish days I shelled out sweaty bills --$2 orange notes with the Queen-- for pretty paper, pink with dolphins, the stationery for...

Tree Meditates Moon

having filled the sky from nothing — circle gorged — the peeled apple moon sets cheek aglow you can have it all with an empty hand a...

Black Stars

Crow paths gather the lines pull corners of night, a woven flock of black stars on blooming dusk wings hum, powerlines reign bookmarking...

Sky Panes

The bridge tower vaults and church spire hangs under the day moon conversing on altitude with steel-boned views bridge cables and cross...

Before Your Eyes

Disappearances happen before your eyes. The pupils are not apertures or ghost containment units. Even the sun cannot see oxygen eaten up...

Intertidal

I close my eyes at the golden hour, smell salt sweet pine I become quicksilver sea shapes and the umber of inter-tide, I am the kelp...

Lemonade Day

When I passed the lemonade stand, I passed my childhood, late August on the sidewalk, next to the church with humble interior walls,...

I'll Come Back as a Paperweight

I’ll just come back as a paperweight of dense phantom glass, a universe convex hugging the walls in the lens of time, the objet d’art...

Forensics

Hands in motion smudge surfaces unforgiving of polish We groove and light life’s glass of shifting images with our living fingerprints...

Surf’s Up: An Alternative Music History

An alternative and prosaic look at the evolution of surf music and its resistance to generic rules from mid-century to present. This long re

Accidental Sunflower

Somehow a patch of sunflowers bloomed from the street corner — a concrete wedge of dog waste baggies, trash from the cannabis shop and...

Reclaim

Tendrils reclaim a wall of their own, sun beggars up the chain link locking small climates of beauty in frame. The meadow pops up in...

God’s Eye

Our lines connecting points of light orchestrate a puppetry of constellations chalking our wish trajectories in the sky Our hopes are a...

The Shape of a Poem

A sonnet “A poem by me needs to be a host of images….Each image holds within it the seed of its own destruction” — Dylan Thomas* The...

Wind-buffered

sky-gathered water sculpts overhead leaves in spoons your face with refraction impasto and you are the unwitting subject in the art of...

The Line

A ghazal Horizon is gravestone of sunk skies, falling into line/ Skyline is the mother of sun’s rise, falling into line. Growing out...

ROYGBIV

Memory is a basement carpeted in orange and brown, electronics warm, vinyl cords in rainbow of 7 colours 7 notes in analog polyphony...

The Business of Living

Becoming a robot is trading out each rogue bleeding heart, until it is mechanized with valves and fittings too tight for art or for...

Salt of Sun and Sea

Next to your bed I breathe the salt of the earth in your hair the salt of the sun in your eye the salt of the sea of your night In my...

Roots Wash Themselves in Cloud

looking at clouds swirled with crows in branches reflecting on the river, I lost calibration, knowing the clouds should be up where I...

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About

Jessica Lee McMillan is an emerging poet and essayist with an MA in English. When not writing, doing front-line legal work or teaching, she spends time with her little family and buries herself in books and records. 

Jessica's poetry investigates the connectedness of nature, language, science, the visual world, and music. Her work considers longing as a kind of architecture that extends to our emotional perception of the environment. Her essays look at culture, music and philosophy as tools to navigate existentialist concerns. 

You can find her work in A Poetry of Place: Journeys Across New Westminster, Bewildering Stories, Pocket Lint (A New Journal), Goat's Milk Magazine, ShabdAaweg ReviewRCLAS Wordplay at Work, Rat's Ass ReviewTiny Spoon and on Medium. Jessica is working on her first poetry chapbook.

She lives in New Westminster, British Columbia.

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