Rebecca Irene's work is published in Passengers Journal, Spillway, Parentheses Journal, RHINO, Pidgeonholes, Bear Review, Carve Magazine, Juked, The Atlanta Review, Typehouse Magazine, Burningword Literary Journal, *82 Review, Amaryllis, Dime Show Review, Balancing Act 2, and elsewhere. A guest blog post, "Poem as Suitcase," can be found at Typehouse Magazine. A five-part mini-interview lives here. 

 

Residencies include stays at SAFTA and Hewnoaks. She has also received a fellowship from the Norton Island Artist Program, and was selected, by Maine Writers & Publishers Alliance, to be a 2020 Fellow at Monson Arts. The Kirkland Art Center & The Garret on the Green awarded her a Winter 2023 Snowed-In Residency.   

 

Selected Poems

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Stay

Typehouse 

As a dog returneth to his vomit, so a fool
returneth to his folly. – Proverbs 26:11 KJV
 

When I taught the Bible, I was in love
with Solomon – Poet. Ruler. Lover.
Until I discovered that he enjoyed
watching dogs scavenge the dead.
Caress
of carcass in the teeth of want.
                     *
I was well suited for conversion,
developed the face of a martyred
saint. I asked women to church
on street corners, buses, & subways.
Pleaded in cafes, pools, & bars.
Whenever I taught Solomon,

 

I disremembered his 700 wives,
& 300 concubines. I kept my doubts
to myself, shared Solomon’s verse
in strident tones. Taught with symbols:
fool as woman, folly as sin. As a dog
returneth to her vomit, so a woman
 
returneth to her sin. I imagined Solomon,
freed from lusts, at long last, at the right
hand of our Lord & Savior, approved.
The thrill of saving souls was like no other.
Chosen. Redeemer of the lost. I forgave
each confessor, offered her repentance,

 

offered the sacred scriptures of Solomon
as solace, baptized with song, & gazed
into her eyes. As Solomon must have
after each new battle. Bathed, sated,
resplendent in royal righteousness,
with new flesh by his side. Some of those

 

I studied the Bible with remain faithful.
Zealous. They still call me their spiritual
mother, & pray for my lost soul. Sometimes,
I wish I could return to them, find faith’s
certainty again, but that was so long ago –
I was unable                               to stay.

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"Weigheth," Passengers Journal,  Spring 2023.

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"Tract," Tebot Bach-Spillway #29, 2021.

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"On Keeping Silent," Bear Review, Fall 2021.

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"I Never Saw a Leaf Vacuum/Before Moving to Nasons Corner," No Contact, September 2021.

 

"Insufficient," RHINO 2021

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"Inchworm," Parentheses Journal, Summer 2021

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"Hunger the Laurel," & "Not Allowed in This Poem," Pidgeonholes, October 2020

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"Cattails," in Carve Magazine, Fall 2019

 Interview with Alyssa Arns, October 2019

 

Like the cattails, we are all a partial sum of our experiences and environment. My core colors are the perpetual new girl at school, Paris cafes, NYC black-box theatres, moleskines, Viarco pencils, and salt-water spray.

I have thin skin; the world breaks me in a multitude of ways. During these dark political times, in an era of global warming, hate speech, and intolerance, reading the news can seem like a lesson in endurance. Art mends me. My husband and sons mend me. My writing community mends me. This cycle of breaking and restoring allows us to hold pain in one hand, and love in the other. And I believe love always triumphs in the end.

 

"Dear Cicada (or Diatribe in a Favorite Childhood Tree)," in Juked Magazine, August 2019

 

"Customers Tonight," in *82 Review, Winter 2018

 

"The Walk to School," in Burningword Literary Journal, July 2018 

 

"Blindside," in Deep Water-Portland Press Herald, July 2018

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"Dodo Show," in Amaryllis, June 2018

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"It's All Good," in Eunoia Review, May 2018

 

"Side Work," in Dime Show Review, April 2018  

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