Selected Poetry by Allison Whittenberg

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plain old boring black

regular, with a common

South Carolina heritage

not straight from the continent like

some prince who came here to drive a cab

enslaved enough to say

I was born here, my parents were born here and grandparents and my greats and on and on

and on

between off and stop

pull the plug means

stop the ventilator from ventilation

but it’s not as quick as flipping a switch

it’s slow like a record player:

off doesn’t mean stop

the disc still circles as it slows

as it stops.

Allison Whittenberg is an award-winning novelist and playwright. Her poetry has appeared in Berlin Lit, Columbia Review, Feminist Studies, J Journal, and New Orleans Review. Whittenberg is a ten-time Pushcart Prize nominee.   "They Were Horrible Cooks" is her collection of poetry.