The American Journal of Poetry
"Strong Rx Medicine"®


Cindy St. Onge

The Cloud


There are ten of them.
Swinging white-trash pony tails, devoid of decorum, cussing, classless. Motherhood hasn’t softened them, hasn’t brought them outside of themselves just yet. Fast food and cellophaned burritos fuel them; no flush in their cheeks, no light in their eyes. These women, clustered in their noise: the cackle and wheeze of old hags, cruise the street in a slackened gait, enveloped in a blue smoke halo. Shag carpet bitches loud with bad English, jacked up teeth, and what might have been a sense of purpose tingles like a phantom limb encased in a prosthetic interchangeable man.



Cindy St. Onge



Steeped in the lavender
of exotic gins, our baser, crueler
prayers broadcast to the dead: the dead
forever compelled to keep
our secrets, harboring shadows
of these little lives, a recon mission
dispatched by the hive mind
we call God.

Over and again we arrange
the manifest of all we’re
taking with us: the tin and
twig we’ve gathered like magpies,

until grown old, concussed
of our lessons, their insights
and failures, we’re asked, at last
to walk away from the hoard,
to forget our badge and laurel,
and prepare to receive everything.




CINDY ST. ONGE is a multimedia poet form the Pacific Northwest, whose poetry has appeared recently in Timberline Review, VoiceCatcher, Dappled Things, and other print and online journals. Her video poetry has been screened at Blissfest, O'Bheal, Bath Fringe Festival, Festival Silencio, and other venues.



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