BLUES FOR KIM ADDONIZIO | AMORAK HUEY

This poem wants to make out with your poems so bad. 
It wants to be eighteen together, to taste 
vodka and OJ and cigarettes from their lips 
on a swamp-warm night in Panama City Beach, 
to roll around together on the gulf-blue carpet 
of their parents’ basement, Dirty Dancing 
unwinding ignored on the Magnavox. It wants 
to slide its hands under their magnificent sundresses, 
it wants the quick pecks, the hungry goodbyes, 
first base on front porches and porch swings and loveseats, 
second base in the back row of the Bama 6, 
Biloxi Blues casting uncertain shadows against cheekbones – 
all these unseen movies offering faint soundtrack 
for awakening – third base, every base and secret 
place, touch ’em all, touch each other 
until breath spills hot and quick 
and all the small sounds melt into words. 
 
This poem wants to grow old with your poems, 
marry young, run away, wait until they’re certain, 
walk dogs, conceive brilliant children, 
build shelves together. To catch your poems 
 cheating and forgive them. To invent memories of things 
that never happened but should have. To read 
other poems with lust in its heart and confess 
to your poems before making love 
on a spring night when it’s almost too cold to leave 
windows open – quiet not to wake the kids. 
It wants dinner parties, family vacations, in-laws 
in the guestroom, whispered fights, dirty dishes, 
it wants to come home and have 
urgent sex in the minivan, front seat reclined, 
awkward against steering wheel and parking brake, 
pushing toward 11 o’clock in the detached garage, 
babysitter inside the house earning eight bucks an hour 
to watch “Project Runway” while the children sleep. 
 
This poem wants to listen to music with your poems. 
It wants them to fall in love with Howlin’ Wolf 
and Lightning Hopkins, it wants to have more 
in common with them than it does, it wants 
guitar, harmonica, vigor – stay young forever, 
drink, reminisce: honeysuckle and kudzu blossoms – 
all those rivers bending and lurching 
toward the gulf, water calling water home – 
the way place has a certain rhythm, the word rhythm 
turning thoughts to sex, not just the whiskey 
talking, it’s a flaw in this poem’s one-track mind, 
always wanting what it cannot have. Desire’s 
just another word for mourning – the gulf 
between all those lives we will never lead 
and the mornings when we wake alone, 
upside down and inside, inside, inside out. 


After 15 years as a reporter and editor, Amorak Huey recently left the newspaper business to teach writing to college students. He lives in Michigan. More at www.amorakhuey.net.http://www.amorakhuey.net/shapeimage_1_link_0

© 2010  |  all rights reserved

about us  |  xml feed  |  Contrary ® is a registered trademark of Contrary Magazine  |  donate $1  | contact us

SUMMER 2010 COVER

OLEA EUROPAEA: YOUNG WOMAN WITH EROS ON HER SHOULDER
THERESA KISHKAN

RENAME THE BIRDS
WESTON CUTTER

BLUES FOR KIM ADDONIZIO
AMORAK HUEY

THEY DREAM OF AK-47s
LAURA McCULLOUGH

ON THIS SPOT
MARK HAGE

THIS PLACED
MATTHEW ROBERSON

LOCKED OUT
EDWARD MC WHINNEY


RECENT AWARD WINNERS
SHERMAN ALEXIE
MEREDITH MARTINEZ


REVIEWS
PHILIP PULLMAN
SARAH ROSE
DAVID AXELROD
S.L. WISENBERG
EDITH GROSSMAN
IDENTITY PARADE
Summer_2010.htmlTheresa_Kishkan_Olea_Europaea.htmlTheresa_Kishkan_Olea_Europaea.htmlTheresa_Kishkan_Olea_Europaea.htmlWeston_Cutter_Rename_the_Birds.htmlWeston_Cutter_Rename_the_Birds.htmlLaura_McCullough_They_Dream_of_AK-47s.htmlLaura_McCullough_They_Dream_of_AK-47s.htmlMark_Hage_On_this_Spot.htmlMark_Hage_On_this_Spot.htmlMatthew_Roberson_This_Placed.htmlMatthew_Roberson_This_Placed.htmlEdward_Mc_Whinney_Locked_Out.htmlEdward_Mc_Whinney_Locked_Out.htmlSherman_Alexie_Census.htmlhttp://www.contrarymagazine.com/Contrary/Love.htmlReviews.htmlPhilip_Pullman_Jesus_Christ.htmlSarah_Rose_For_All_the_Tea_in_China.htmlDavid_Axelrod_Departing_by_a_Broken_Gate.htmlSL_Wisenberg_Adventures_of_Cancer_Bitch.htmlEdith_Grossman_Why_Translation_Matters.htmlIdentity_Parade.htmlshapeimage_3_link_0shapeimage_3_link_1shapeimage_3_link_2shapeimage_3_link_3shapeimage_3_link_4shapeimage_3_link_5shapeimage_3_link_6shapeimage_3_link_7shapeimage_3_link_8shapeimage_3_link_9shapeimage_3_link_10shapeimage_3_link_11shapeimage_3_link_12shapeimage_3_link_13shapeimage_3_link_14shapeimage_3_link_15shapeimage_3_link_16shapeimage_3_link_17shapeimage_3_link_18shapeimage_3_link_19shapeimage_3_link_20shapeimage_3_link_21shapeimage_3_link_22shapeimage_3_link_23shapeimage_3_link_24
COMMENTARY | POETRY | FICTION | CHICAGO         ARCHIVES  | ABOUT  | SUBMISSIONS  | BOOKSHOP  | DONATE  | CONTACT  | SHAREArchives.htmlContrary.htmlSubmissions.htmlBookshop.htmlWritersFund.htmlContact.htmlhttp://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php?v=152&winname=addthis&pub=contrary&source=men-152&lng=en-us&s=undefined&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.contrarymagazine.com%2F&title=Contrary%20Magazine&logo=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.contrarymagazine.com%2Fcontramazon.jpg&logobg=F5F4F4&logocolor=&ate=AT-contrary/-/-/4b3771ea6b8ea1a5/1/4b329e0c06baac67&uid=4b329e0c06baac67&CXNID=2000001.5215456080540439074NXC&pre=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.contrarymagazine.com%2FContrary%2FAutumn-2009.html&tt=0shapeimage_4_link_0shapeimage_4_link_1shapeimage_4_link_2shapeimage_4_link_3shapeimage_4_link_4shapeimage_4_link_5shapeimage_4_link_6
http://www.contrarymagazine.com/