Talk is cheap but it still packs a punch by Marissa Glover

Talk is cheap but it still packs a punch

If I told you the things he said
you wouldn’t believe me—sure,
you’d understand his growl
of loneliness dressed as desire,
each catch and release
of throaty breath resonating,
especially if you’ve seen
Allie leap into Noah’s arms
on a dock in the pouring rain
or heard Springsteen sing
about sheets soaking wet,
a freight train pounding
in the middle of his head.
But the specifics, every word
and syllable in perfect concert—
you wouldn’t believe me.
Not even if I told you, which
I can’t. Not because I don’t want
to. I’d write them here if
I could remember. Instead,
it’s like a bruise that rises
to the surface weeks after impact,
a submarine breaking for air
after being rammed underwater.
You can point to the place,
a cacophony of blues and purples,
an abstract painting of concrete pain,
proving something happened.
You just don’t know what.

*

Marissa Glover lives and writes in Florida, where she’s busy swatting bugs and dodging storms. Her poetry collections Let Go of the Hands You Hold and Box Office Gospel are published by Mercer University Press. You can follow Marissa on social media at MarissaGlover_

Hope Is the Thing in Emails by Marissa Glover

Hope Is the Thing in Emails

I got an email the other day
with the subject line
“Bible Flower Heals Hemorrhoids.”

Don’t worry—I didn’t open it.

I checked to see the sender,
assumed it was my mother,
but it was spam (of course,
it was, you knew that).

But it got me thinking.

About hemorrhoids, sure,
but about Bible flowers too.
And healing. Namely healing.

So, while it’s true I didn’t open it—
I couldn’t bring myself to delete it either.

*

Marissa Glover lives in Florida, where she’s busy dodging storms and swatting bugs. Her poetry collection Let Go of the Hands You Hold was released by Mercer University Press in 2021. Box Office Gospel was published by Mercer in 2023. Follow her on Twitter at _MarissaGlover_.

Mary, Did You Know? by Marissa Glover

Mary, Did You Know?

Yes, she knew,
as all moms know—
the instant letdown
of milk at his cry,
the look in brown eyes
that says he feels pain,
his smell after a long day
chiseling and stacking
stones, catching barbels
or musht.

She knew all
that other stuff too.
An angel told her,
remember?
Appeared to her,
said she’d soon be pregnant,
and Joseph was not
the father.
The prophets warned
what would happen next.

I’m more curious
about what Mary didn’t know,
what no mom knows,
what’s impossible
to know.
Like how quickly
his feet would be the size
of hammers, how soon
he’d choose his own path.

Or how much
it would hurt
to watch him
suffer, how hard
it would be
to feel the blood
urge for revenge
and take none.

*

Marissa Glover teaches and writes in Florida, where she serves as co-editor of Orange Blossom Review and a senior editor at The Lascaux Review. Her poetry has been published in Rattle, Rust + Moth, SWWIM Every Day, and other journals. Marissa’s first full-length poetry collection, Let Go of the Hands You Hold, was released by Mercer University Press in 2021 and her second collection, Box Office Gospel, will be published by Mercer in 2023.

How to Turn Someone in an Interrogation by Marissa Glover

How to Turn Someone in an Interrogation

Rule #1: Look for what
makes them human. Ask
about their mother parent.
Not everyone has
a mother. Find common
ground, shared experiences.
Tell them about your
childhood surgery—
stress how hard it was
to recover. Even if their
body has never been cut,
they can imagine.
Show them scars;
they’ll know it hurt.
Share enough details
to make it feel real;
invent the rest. After pain,
offer reprieve. Often,
this brief kindness is
all they need to trust.

Rule #2: Be patient.
It will take years time
to find exactly what
you’re looking for. After,
exploit the soft spot;
this is the torture
vulnerability everyone
wants to avoid. We can’t
see it, but we’re already
walking around with
numbers over our head,
a red digital countdown
marking the moments left,
like a shot clock telling
us to hurry. Like a timer
on a wired bomb
impossible for us to
disarm. We’re all just
one conversation away
from breaking.

*

Marissa Glover lives in Florida, where she teaches at Saint Leo University and serves as co-editor of Orange Blossom Review and a senior editor at The Lascaux Review. Marissa’s creative work was most recently published in Rattle and her poem “The World Asks Too Much of Mothers,” first featured in Whale Road Review, is a 2020 Best of the Net Finalist. Her full-length poetry collection, LET GO OF THE HANDS YOU HOLD, was released by Mercer University Press on April 1, 2021. You can follow Marissa on Twitter and Instagram at _MarissaGlover_.