Jean L. Kreiling prefers traveling by foot, and has been fortunate to stroll along London streets, Italian cliffsides, and countless American beaches. Her poems have traveled far and wide, most recently to the pages of American Arts Quarterly, The Evansville Review, Measure, Mezzo Cammin, and several anthologies. She is the 2013 winner of the String Poet Prize and a past winner of the Able Muse Write Prize; she has been a finalist for the Frost Farm Prize, the Howard Nemerov Sonnet Award, and the Richard Wilbur Award.
All work
The chandeliers might not cause such offense /
if gas bills didn’t make my budget bleed /
and new shoes weren’t an extravagance. …
The hard work of vacationing had given /
the drivers’ eyes a highway-haunted glaze /
and must have left their necks in knots. …
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The bill in question is actually a 2,000 West African franc note, and it’s the equivalent of about four U.S. dollars. A helpful sum, really, but as I clutch the weathered crinkle in my sweaty palm, its value feels as dirty as the grime that is undoubtedly being transferred to my fingers.
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to Egg and Berry brewery, to the pack / of Czechy words I made but didn’t work / in this pink town. I’d readily go back / to your best spots, the unfired gun, that perk //
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And if the neap tides of my beauty / sadden him, I cannot help it: / I hang high, the waxy night light …
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Three thousand ancestors ask how I straddle / the sea, a foot on either shore. //
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