Denver Ferguson
Denver Ferguson (they/them) is from Southeast Ohio and grew up in rural Appalachia, which heavily influences their voice in their poetry. They are also an undergraduate student at Bowling Green State University. They are majoring in film production and minoring in creative writing. Currently, they are an intern for Mid-American Review and are looking towards an MFA in the future.
Easy read of the poems in the images above:
an ode to the little girl buried in front of grandma’s house
CW: poverty, general melancholy, child neglect
monday morning, late november of 2013
the weatherman on tv says school is canceled
the wood stove empty of crackling embers
runny nose, red ears
surrounded by dogs
breathing shallow and careful
warm bristles of fur and radiant body heat
i don't want to leave the safety under the blanket
the cold digs at the covers
breath visible, delicate puffs of cloudy spit
mom was supposed to pick me up after work last night
three days after thanksgiving
I watch shows no one has ever heard of
wacky races, puppy in my pocket, johnny quest
through the cold fall mornings
frost creating mosaics on the glass windows
the house stays quiet, muffled by snow
icicles half my body length hang from the porch
like glass swords
the smell of kerosene fills my nose and lingers there
i take tylenol for my headaches
pick your poison
seeing your breath, a wet cloud of smoke
or the stagnant thick of the heater
most definitely a fire hazard
at the center of the living room
twelve days before christmas
she almost didn’t make it home
the snow was too heavy
school is canceled again
her 1999 volkswagen beetle
pale as ivory
whirred, spun and fishtailed
through the ice and powdery blanket
she crept home through the blinding white
past where her child could not sleep
typing away at odd hours of the morning
restless, on a horse computer game
collecting wild mares
with coats of soft downy gray
new years eve
mom is at the bar
again
grandma and i are alone
how to celebrate?
11:27pm we make a pot of coffee
folgers, the cheapest at dollar general
20 minutes away
at midnight we eat pb & j’s together
im tired of them
but i eat them anyway for grandma’s peace of mind
she heads to bed after we watch the ball drop
and assures me i will see my mother at dawn
crocuses bloom purple in the yard
by the concrete post with a little boy’s initials
dating before my time
dog’s wet nose against my cheek
horse hair caught in hangnails
the pine trees in front of the house
sway at the tops
threatening to snap and splinter and rain
onto the farmhouse
I watched scooby-doo in
on the dusty green carpet from who knows when
before me
my mother
maybe my grandmother
the little girl inside of me
gets to sleep in a warm, clean bed
with dogs not to evade numbing cold
but for comfort
she gets to read magic treehouse books to them
and doesn’t have to worry about when mom will finally come home.
eat your heart out.
CW: allusion to cannibalism, graphic descriptions of the body, disordered eating, toxic relationships
mud daubers create a nest inside of your chest cavity
sticky earthen tunnels on your ribcage, vibrating with anger
my teeth meet you and pierce through delicate membranes
growling stomach, begging and crying for more
we are always hungry
and we will always be such
how simple do you think it is
to feast without violence?
draining you, hanging you up by your hooves
upside down
a deer in the garage with showy guts and cut antlers
hot and crimson, the dripping shuts your eyes when we could not
or wouldn’t
out of fear of seeing too much life within, the breath on your lips
nourishment is a form of love
at what cost?
you are no longer human when you become a cut
of tender meat
we do not call the young calf “baby cow” but veal
nothing that is you remains
born hungry
with sharp bones and sunken acidic stomachs
howling and sprinting like wolves under a milky moon
the wasp’s nest inside of your chest
covered your heart in papery wings and dead insects
easily ripped away by jagged fingernails and smooth teeth
warm and bleating like a lamb.
full moon stag
CW: vulgar descriptions, body horror
hunger gnawing, chewing at skin. birth. it crawls out screaming for mother but she is long gone with the starving animals. it breaks from the egg, covered in thick slime. buggy eyes look around frantically. mother. the thin flesh of the host crinkles. paper bag. long goat horns- no, deer stand from its skull. they grow legs and walk away. mother asks where her keys are. they did not run. antlers stretch for the crying sky and the animal of hunger wanders forward into the barren wasteland. he stands in a living room painted red with metallic crimson. quivering maw, wrinkling nose smelling for nourishment. for the hunger to stop. but he was born with showy ribs and a sunken stomach. we were all born into starvation. he is lucky to find curdled milk in the fridge and it is not his mother’s. he drinks and chokes and nearly dies but hooves wrap around the glass like tendrils and he consumes all that can give his body strength. he is met with an empty pantry when the stomach begins to crawl up his throat and whisper for more. that voice is instinct and he is a wolf howling at the full frosted moon.
