Through the Bronze Mirror

I’m excited to announce that “Through the Bronze Mirror”, my collection of fantasy / science fiction poems and stories, will soon be published. It’s the distilled result of years and years of writing.

The publisher describes it as: “While continuing the tradition of Ursula K. Le Guin and Octavia Butler, Carma Lynn Park’s debut collection of speculative fiction is a category of its own. In both short story and free verse forms, Park builds worlds in which petticoats co-exist with gene splicing, a space-traveling robot is transformed by a visit to a pre-industrial town festival, and a Medieval-like battle on a spaceship is fueled by caffeine. Dying is never far away in the realms Park creates, but neither is the afterlife; both are equally melancholy and magical, often darkly humorous. Park is in a conversation with her New Weird and slipstream fiction contemporaries, but her rich imagery and deft syntax distinguish her as a unique storyteller with a poet’s voice.”

It is available for pre-order at https://matchfactoryeditions.com/books/Through-the-Bronze-Mirror-p798269294 Upon the book’s publication, you will also be able to order it through independent bookstores and at Amazon.

While you’re at the website, check out the other books Match Factory Editions has published or is about to publish; each showcases a distinct voice.

Museum Shenwu (Divine Things)

I lean over the bronze mirror,

hair falling forward,

light catching its edges, red-blond

flames around a shadow face—

is this the real me,

burning with divinity?

Art Institute of Chicago. Chinese Bronze Mirror, Han Dynasty. CCO Public Domain Designati

Glow

The filament tells electricity
baby, you make me glow

and the bulb tells the filament
you light me up

and the tree tells the string of bulbs
I want you all over me

and the camera tells the tree
I love that look on you

and the photographer tells the camera
I want to hold you tight

and the art critic tells the photographer
beautiful composition, exquisite curves

and, later, the photographer tells
the art critic
baby, you make me glow

Flying Saucer Girl

Square. Round hole.

Electrified hair.

I gallop around like a horse.

Shy, with bursts of jabber.

What’s that old expression,

the lunatic fringe?

Always on the fringe,

trying to pass for normal.

New Year’s Eve

Two solstices,

two equinoxes,

all those moons.

Here we are at the dry

twig end of the year.

Let’s put on some shine.

Let’s splurge!

Songs, champagne,

kisses, wishes.

Cloud Gate Sculpture

silver and slick,

rounded like a drop of mercury,

curving our reflections away from ourselves,

not knowing if we are waving to ourselves

or to strangers,

all of us smiling and waving

Brief Encounter at the Stop Sign

Hey, I like your paint job

and the sexy purr in your motor.

That smile in your headlights—

you’re checking me out, aren’t you?

But I am going west,

and you are headed north.

You wait for me to go first,

so I give you a sassy sway

of my rear bumper.

An Unlooked-for Moment of Grace

An Unlooked-for Moment of Grace 

today

you stand in the sun

and happiness pours into you

mending the broken places

filling every chip and rift with gold 

Kintsugi is a Japanese idea built on the idea of strength and beauty in imperfection. It refers to a method of repairing art of putting broken pottery pieces back together with precious materials — built on the idea that in embracing flaws and imperfections, you can create an even stronger, more beautiful piece of art.

If You Don’t Look Up

If You Don’t Look Up 

you see cracked sidewalk

decaying leaves 

while overhead skeins of sandhill cranes

skim freezing clouds

pointing south, pushing south

and the sun glows

on a wing’s wind-edge

A Coin for the Ferryman

A Coin for the Ferryman 

I think it is the end

but it opens.

I think it is my own blood

but it is a river of light.

I think it is a bird

but it is a boat.

I think it is a shadow

but it is the ferryman. 

When I come to the landing

I explain that I left swiftly, without warning,

and did not bring a coin.

He says he will accept a poem.

So I stand at the bow

as the boat pulls away

and speak the truest words I know.

They might be drops of river spray;

they might be tears he wipes away.

 My thanks to the editors of Tales for the Talisman, where this poem originally appeared.

This and That

This and That 

Sometimes I love storm

Sometimes shelter

I am tough

I am tender 

Mouth full of honey

Adder-tongued

One eye looks forward

The other back

A would-be believer

Longing for grace, a doubter  

Feet for the gutter

Feathers for the sky

Both maiden and hag

As they say—a mixed bag.