“Cherimoya Heart” in L’Ephemere Review’s Dalliance Issue

L’Ephemere Review’s Dalliance issue has just been released this evening! Check out my poem about self love and discovery, “Cherimoya Heart“, in this tastefully sumptuous issue! Gratitude and congratulations to the editors and my fellow contributors!

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New and Upcoming Publications

Happy Monday!

It’s been a productive, inspirational March so far. I was thrilled to see two of my poems, “The Day of Dreams, January 15, 2018” and “Moon Tanka” published last week on A Gathering of the Tribesthe website of the incomparable and beloved poet and activist Steve Cannon. The first poem is an exploration of Dolores O’Riordan’s death on Martin Luther King Jr. Day and what these two historical individuals meant to our collective psyche and the current state of the world. The second poem is a reflection on workday recovery.

Congratulations again to Steve Cannon, who will be receiving the 2018 Writers for Writers award from Poets & Writers! Steve’s fellow award recipients include novelist Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Richard Russo, and editor Rebecca Saletan. Check out this NY Times article about Steve and his friendship with artist David Hammons.

Stay tuned for my poem, “Cherimoya Heart”, which will be published in L’Éphémère Review‘s upcoming Dalliance issue! In the meantime, here’s a visual of the source of my inspiration for my sensual poem about self-discovery and love. May everything that ignites your senses out there inspire you to create something today and always!

 

Peace and inspiration,

Stephanie

Queens Lit Fest!

Happy May Day!

I just wanted to thank everyone involved in the Queens Lit Fest that took place at LIC Landing this past weekend. I was honored to be a featured reader at the event on 4/29 and to introduce my novel, The Boulevard Trial, to our Queens literary community. I will always be grateful for the opportunity to participate in this event by the incandescent waterfront and to connect with poets, writers and musicians from Queens and beyond.

Stay tuned for upcoming literary events!

Peace and inspiration,

Stephanie

 

 

Happy Valentine’s Weekend

Happy Friday and Happy Valentine’s Weekend!

I’m sending out love and wishing everyone an inspired, happy Valentine’s weekend.

For the readers out there, or lovers of readers, here’s a steamy (tasteful) excerpt from my novel, The Boulevard Trial, in particular the scene where my protagonist Helena finally kisses her beloved Michael. Get your copy in time for Tuesday!

“Michael’s hands trembled as he took Helena’s face in his hands. He pressed his lips to hers, then drank from her mouth with a grateful tongue, tasting her fleshy wetness for the first time. Never in his life had he quenched such a longing.”

 

I’ll close with a quote from one of my all time favorite poems by e.e. cummings to send love to those who’ve come and those who’ve gone but left an indelible mark:

“i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)”

 

Happy Birthday, Cupid.

 

hat

Appendix Heart

The inspiration for this poem came about last year as I recovered from an emergency appendectomy that left an itchy, conspicuous scar on my abdomen. I had plenty of time to write while staring at my scar, which reminded me of the cactus pears I used to eat as a child and which, despite their sweet, juicy flesh, often pinched my palms with invisible yet painful spines. Lost love was the same, I thought. For a few weeks, I spent hours resting, writing and listening to old love songs-obviously entertaining spells of nostalgia. As I wrote the line in my poem about “an organ born to ruin”, it became clear to me that the metaphor was applicable to the human heart as well as the appendix. And of course there is the significance of an appendix as an afterthought at the very end of a book. Hope you enjoy Appendix Heart.

 

Appendix Heart  

 

Afterwards, all that remains

is a prickly pear scar,  twelve blood-red seeds

plotted along a thermometer

of yoked sun streaks and a purple road

stitched high above my thigh

like a grin that refuses to break.

 

In the countless convalescent hours,

I meditate on the same scar

that lives inside long ago

songs about lost

lovers in the desert space

where they congregate

to pick cactus fruit and wait

until it’s time to return.

 

Most never return.

But once in a parallel while,

a voice calls from the hollow

left where there used to be

an organ born to ruin,

sutured only with the promise of undying

love, turned prickly sweet.