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  December 2007
volume 5 number 3
-table of contents-
 
  home   (archived)
 
  contributing poets
  Theresa Antonia
  Aurora Antonovic
  Tom Berman
  Heitham Black
  Jack G. Bowman
  Charles Brooks
  Sir Mark Bruback
  Elissa Calvin
  Ed Coet
  Mike Dias
  Kenneth Gurney
  Victor D. Infante
  Tao Jones
  Scott C. Kaestner
  Deborah P Kolodji
  Dimitris P. Kraniotis
  Marie Lecrivain
  Adam Lowis
  Paul McConnell
  david mclean
  Robert John Miller
  Christopher Mulrooney
  Scott Nichols
  Dave Nordling
  Rita Odeh
  Maurice Oliver
  Marc Olmstead
  Angel Uriel Perales
  Elijiah Rios
  Poet-broker Rosenthal
  Walter Ruhlmann
  Ashley Rumery
  Justin Scupine
  Annette Sugden
  Ilona Timoszuk
 
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Theresa Antonia
December 2007
   

 

bio


photo by kevin berger

    Theresa Antonia is Italian. To prove this, she keeps a photo in her purse of her grandfather in his wife beater t-shirt, cigar in his mouth, a jug of wine on the table his "friends" are sitting around in the basement, a bare bulb dangling overhead.
    She's also an internationally published poet, grant recipient, artist in residence, and freelance photographer with a master's degree in psychology.
    She's performed her one woman show at Beyond Baroque, and all over L.A. Published in numerous anthologies, and special edition chapbooks, she's a contributing editor for poeticdiversity, a co-director and editor for the Valley Contemporary Poets, is known for writing in a narrative prose style, and is still finishing her documentary on creativity, To contact: tc_art@hotmail.com.
tc_art@hotmail.com

   

 

The Boxer

    my lover uses his words like a prizefighter- little more than a high school grad, with a Ph.D. off the streets, his life clearly tattooed; son of this city now, prophet
off the streets;

    he’s teaching me to be more practical; tie good strong knots, block his punches, build a tree house out of tomorrows, we’re living on fingertip kisses & borrowed time.

    my lover & I, here at the beach, leave our trail on the trackless open sea; we’re drifting galaxies, like the ones beneath that give birth to new reefs, here next to washed up fishing buoys- where this subway to the sea from LA seems long.

    my mind drifts from this town of our lady of the king of beats & hippies & drifters, where we get lost in the crowd to long silences that come in the form of burnt toast & parking tickets stuffed in glove boxes,

    to my sister-in-law now running marathons; running & running & running & she says she’s never going to stop; her son will stop running, for a minute, put his iPod down long enough to say, “I can’t hear you with this thing on.”

    here in Venice, the sore spot of California, my lover & I pass vendors selling their knives & combs & coins & souls, here on the razor.s edge.

    here I suddenly feel unbearably present, eyes wide open, ready for the other shoe to drop, like the story of two young lovers; a high school football star & his willowy girlfriend in a car on a country road; you just know something is going to happen around the corner & it isn’t going to be good,

    further down the boardwalk, past the “what the fuck it’s just a buck” homeless princes on benches & suburban moms with graffiti charms, past pot seeds & love beads & drug trips & drum hips - past bible circles & grizzly old men who stumble out of bars in the middle of the day, blinking their eyes like they just came from underground - I realize my lover is everything I am not & though he says he needs me to do the things he does not think he can do, I tell him I need him to help me say the things I do not think I can say,

    but like a boxer, he is teaching me & I must stand here, alone & tell my truth.

copyright 2007 Theresa Antonia