Recenter Press
  • About
  • Books
    • Rest of US by Richard Hamilton
    • evening primroses by Emma Loomis-Amrhein
    • Profit | Prophet by Patrick Blagrave
    • To Hold Your Moss-Covered Heart by Schuyler Peck
    • The Good House & The Bad House by Doe Parker
    • The Road Is Long & Beautiful by Terra Oliveira
    • And Still To Sleep by Terra Oliveira
    • An Old Blue Light by Terra Oliveira
    • Processes: A Meditation by Terra Oliveira
  • Journal
    • Issue Four: Fall 2020
    • Issue Three: Spring 2020
    • Issue Two: Fall 2019
    • Issue One: Spring 2019
  • Interviews

Outline of Dread

BY LORA MATHIS.


dread is a small blank room that nobody else enters 
sing into it                 the banana leaves are shaking their floppy heads at me
the laundry needs to be changed to the dryer
                 the dishes washed 

remember the virus is best fought with soap and water 20 seconds wash scrub repeat
what a privilege it is to have water to wash your hands with 
to have a bedroom         a kitchen.         food in the cupboard         tea to steep 

some say, oh if I have to be indoors for weeks I will be in prison 
but they don't know 
people crowded together         hoping to post bail         6 feet of distance a grief-ladened impossibility

lounging in your bedroom for weeks is not the same as being pepper sprayed for refusing to sign a contract before receiving a mask
or hostile guards 
or truly being imprisoned

all those rich fuckers snacking in their foyers         swirling merlot in crystal glasses
         entire cabinets filled with unused china & 
         ​rooms just for looking at 

right now all i can do is slap my hand against my thigh 
when marvin gaye’s voice peaks ​

Mamia

BY LORA MATHIS.


While staying for months in the Normal Heights apartment of two friends,
I remained in the same mile radius.
Slipped out to the grocery store across the street
while they were still asleep--
quietly chopped the potatoes and onions,
so when they woke up there would be the smell
of a meal to share. 

I can sense the capabilities of my grandmother
inside of me while my hands work over the food.
Returning to when I’d shuck corn with her while Quebecois radio
cooed in the background. An afternoon of pulling 
cobwebby coating from the pale yellow kernels,
my hands tangled in thin white strings, all for a
quick Merci at the end of the meal. 

My mother wants to know why my front door remains unlocked,
and the pantry filled, and I, at the rustle of a guest,
hurry downstairs to ask if they have ate.

When I visited my grandma in Montreal, 
she laid out the bread and butter,
the container of cheeses and pate, 
the pot of steaming pasta, 
as I mixed the salad. 

While pushing me away 
from the soapy basin resting in the sink,
she insisted I take a dozen 
blueberry muffins and assortment of stone fruits
on the bus downtown with me. 

A few years later, back with my mother,
I bound up the familiar stairs first. 
The door pulled open to reveal the smell of onions on the stove
and a distant swoop of the radio. Cloaked in the haziness
of aging, my grandmother squinted at me in confusion, 
for a second uncertain of who I was,
but still asking, Are you hungry?

Lora Mathis is a poet, artist, zinemaker, musician, student, union intern, and believer in collective care. They live in San Diego. You can follow their work on their website at  www.loramathis.com, or on their Instagram @lora__mathis.
  • About
  • Books
    • Rest of US by Richard Hamilton
    • evening primroses by Emma Loomis-Amrhein
    • Profit | Prophet by Patrick Blagrave
    • To Hold Your Moss-Covered Heart by Schuyler Peck
    • The Good House & The Bad House by Doe Parker
    • The Road Is Long & Beautiful by Terra Oliveira
    • And Still To Sleep by Terra Oliveira
    • An Old Blue Light by Terra Oliveira
    • Processes: A Meditation by Terra Oliveira
  • Journal
    • Issue Four: Fall 2020
    • Issue Three: Spring 2020
    • Issue Two: Fall 2019
    • Issue One: Spring 2019
  • Interviews