Volume Five, Issue 3

Ricky Novaes de Oliveira

Copacabana (from afar)

             Iemanjá, my red
shoes soaked, your sea-salt reaching
                         returned with flowers

Practicing Saudade

Sow degrees
Sound of G
Say “da.dʒi”
Sounded please
Some adages
Sup? Duh. Jeez!
Sold a g.
Sew the grease
S’how’s he?
Sun dodging
S’where’s he?
Saw daddy
S’how’d he?
Son dawning
It’s odd, agree?
Some body
Sou da G—

Must’ve missed your call
Mist sings
Miss seeing
Home, sickly
Midst Spring
Gone missing
Gone fishing
This missing
Still missing
Miss him

On the Bus

Solitary and brown against
a white facade. Road centered
his lone figure staggers asymmetrically
aside median bushes, milesperhour autos. Perpendicular,
solitary, and brown against a backdrop of red roadside roses.
Flowers not for him, their summertime placed there in case
white and blue fail to distract from brown. Solitary against
flow, lilting through the scene, pedestrian of anarchy,
object of fringe, anyone’s subject, justice and choice,
the quarter rattling in his cup. Zipped in my wallet
I feel it, he’s outside the window, scraping
the bus, his fingers outstretched
could reach

Now zoomed away in the regular blob
brown against white against blue each red against me.

Ricky Novaes de Oliveira: “I live and love in Los Angeles. Growing from American and Brazilian roots, I write about belonging, alienation, and cityscapes, with music playing in the background. Since graduating with an undergraduate degree in Creative Writing, I am a full-time high school English teacher and a part-time poet. My work is in the University of Chicago Arts Magazine, California’s Best Emerging Poets 2019 (Z Publishing House), and @oliveira.poetry on Instagram.”

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