Bending Light – a poem by Maria Mazzenga

Bending Light

around the curve of
summer’s first day
the sun jumps,

leaps to the left,
she’s citrus
in orange neon,
shimmering wide hips,
wailing like a siren—
cars swerve as she shimmies
across the street

after all, half the world’s on fire,
lunatic bugs buzz
like mad, blazing
with her waxy drippings

forget circumferences and
temperatures, arm’s length abstractions
and theories of light—
the mother of all bombshells,
breathing nuclear secrets
into the ear of Eve, who still
listens from


Maria Mazzenga is a poet from Arlington, Virginia who’s been writing poetry for 30 years; she was first published in The Catskill Review, and later in Poet MagazineTakoma Voice and Bitchin’ Kitsch, among other publications.  She has done readings in Maryland and Washington, D.C.   She is currently an editor on a new online poetry publication Jump, where she has also published a few of her pieces.

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