Look back: Meg Tuite - The Radvocate #13

Posted in Look Back, Meg Tuite, Issue #13

Meg Tuite. She's a spitfire, that one. Since before she was even printed in The Radvocate, she's been an entushiastic patricipant of our cause, even flying out from New Mexico to be in our second reading show in 2014. In addition to being an infectious personality, she has a whole bevy of accomplishments to speak of. She is the author of two short story collections, Bound By Blue (2013) from Sententia Books and Domestic Apparition (2011) from San Francisco Bay Press. She also has three chapbooks, the latest titled, Her Skin is a Costume (2013) from Red Bird Chapbooks. She won the Twin Antlers Collaborative Poetry award from Artistically Declined Press for her poetry collection, Bare Bulbs Swinging (2014) written with Heather Fowler and Michelle Reale. She teaches at the Santa Fe Community College and edits for the Santa Fe Literary Review and Connotation Press, in addition to writing a column at JMWW. She lives in Santa Fe with her husband and menagerie of pets. You can find her bloggings at http://megtuite.com.

Here now are her poems featured in The Radvocate #13. This will conclude our 'Look back' series as we build up for the release of Issue #14, coming Summer 2016. 

the beating light of an undefined hour


She felt enchanted, life was an uncomplicated auction,

until a visitor saw all her luck stampeding out the door.

The rusted horseshoes she’d found in the backyard

were hung upside down. She began to slouch again,

worried she was impossible to climb. Calendars

impregnated her with white blank dates heavy

with expectation, strained by frantic engagements

she made up and penciled in. Weight of things not done

blew the gust of her into an artifact, deep cleavage

rooted her eyebrows in chronic disappointment

as her hands grew older ghosts who opened and closed

the past like Venetian blinds.



I am walking beside me


A day appears to happen cause weather is reported

and some man finds a conscience while a grocery list

blinks on the counter in capital letters no cheese no

bread sit on shelves wondering what kind of cough

magnifies the need for another afternoon on the couch

when things have generated movement though not from

inside through the lick of evening a father is absent as a

match cannot find its candle and a cemetery caws the

sound of wind chimes while the warm sound of a mother

 reading stories recognizes its own past.



Known Snares of Mesmeric Currents


Skies are roiling pink and I’m starving rooms with

the absence of you and where is nowhere that used

to hollow out the eruptive hours of indecisive head

lights gouging track marks of someone else’s existence

on sullen windows painted shut and migraines dulled

by bathroom mirrors still curled around the breath of

powdered speech where laced up urgency is as close as

a woman’s lipstick fat as the shaded tip of some storm

winded clothes battling the strain of dust devils driven

by the soporific fossil of unrecorded gray wishes dazed

in placid rivers crying for some kid to sweep under

waves and grasp some shiny history while inside white

spiral tiles are counted sitting on a toilet dismissed and

prophetic memories passed over waiting to be ripped

from a waiter’s pad squeezed between two frightful

human tragedies of starched silence uncovered and

              strewn from wreckage of need.