Aleathia Drehmer was born in 1973 during the Carter Administration in a Polish town nestled in Central Connecticut. Her mother was a wide-eyed 16 year-old and her father a Vietnam Vet only five years home when they met. He was 8 years older than her when their daughter was born. They travelled the country like gypsies for the most part until it became too much for them. Aleathia settled in Corning, NY, which is the home of glass blowing. Here she met the love of her life while spinning records at the community college radio station in 1992. Music holds them together. They were married in the backyard in 2005. Aleathia has one energetic, ultra-friendly, and infinitely talkative 5 year-old daughter and a satanic cat named Carrot. Writing is the only way she remains sane in this world for that which does not come out of her brain serves to kill it. Her writing is almost always done between the hours of 11pm and 3 am. Aleathia’s publishing career started in 2004 at her local community college where she took first prize in poetry for two years and third prize in short fiction one of the years. Publishing online began in earnest in the summer of 2006. Zygote In My Coffee was the first to pick up her work and has remained one of her most favourite online sites. She also has work featured in Cerebral Catalyst, Haggard and Halloo, Lunatic Chameleon, High Contrast. She has upcoming work in the online journal Flutter and will be in the 3rd print edition of Zygote In My Coffee. Contact her at myspace.

Because his passion is insurmountable and he can make rocks look sexy.

Click image to read 60 of Neruda's poems online on the Free Net Pages website; for a profile of Neruda on the Wikipedia website, click here or for related items on Amazon, click here

Because she can see nature and the movements of life like no one I have ever read before. She can mix animate and inanimate objects with grace.

Click image to visit the Mary Oliver Web Index Page; to read a selection of Oliver's poems on the Modern American Poetry website, click here or for related items on Amazon, click here

Because his writing is succinct and his line breaks challenge my thinking.

Click image to visit the Robert Creeley Homepage; to read Alan Riach's interview with Creeley, click here or for related items on Amazon, click here

Because I love that he never cared what people thought of him. He spoke his passion, his anger, his desolation with reckless abandon.

Click image to visit the Walt Whitman Archive; for a selection of links relating to Whitman, click here or for related items on Amazon, click here

Because the way she moulds a character makes me fall in love with each one, makes me feel vested in their interest, and sad when each one dies.

Click image to visit the Willa Cather Page; to visit the Willa Cather Archive, click here or for related items on Amazon, click here

Click image to visit the band's official website; to watch the video for the band's record 'Destiny' on the YouTube website, click here or for related items on Amazon, click here

Click image to visit the official website for the album; to watch the video for the album track 'Harrowdown Hill' on the YouTube website, click here or for related items on Amazon, click here

Click image to visit O'Riley's official website; for a review of the album on the Stylus Magazine website, click here or for related items on Amazon, click here

Click image to visit Jones's official website; to watch the video for the album track 'Sunrise' on the YouTube website, click here or for related items on Amazon, click here

Click image to visit Radin's official website; to watch the video of 'Closer' from the album on YouTube, click here or for related items on Amazon, click here

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FORUM

SELECTED POETRY

by
Aleathia Drehmer

BLED

My grandmother fenced
a portion of her oasis
off from the rest of the yard,
kept it away from the grass,
and maples she had nurtured
in the aridity of the desert.
It was filled with succulents
and cacti arranged perfectly
amongst crystalline limestone.
I would curl my fingers
through the links
letting the heated metal
burn my skin in a way
that pleased me and
hurt me simultaneously.
I could not bring myself
to walk on the stones,
to be enveloped in its’ womb.
It reminded me of prison,
a yard full of thorns
that no one wanted,
abound with hidden treasures
one would be able to see
if willing to be bled.

© Aleathia Drehmer

---

CYCLAMEN

The rotting Cyclamen
from Valentine’s Day
still sits
in the middle of the table
with its shiny pink paper.

Leaves desiccating
before my eyes;
Once swollen ovaries withering,
shrinking with the onset of age
like a vegetative menopause.

Stems twisted awkwardly,
dangling like broken necks
in a tight noose,
hanging limply over the potter.
All life gone except one pink flower.

© Aleathia Drehmer

---

SO CLOSE TO THE SKIN

I had not seen my mother
in several years
and like anyone else,
the last image I have in my mind
is one of childhood.
The smell of her perfume
scented lightly at her neck,
lingering roses in late autumn,
the absence of her breath
as she hugs me, afraid
of the not knowing
when she might see me again.
I wait at my terminal
for her and do not see her,
or hear her boisterous laugh.
I feel strangely abandoned,
an awkward girl lost in a big place
surrounded by unfamiliar faces,
unfamiliar sounds.
I think of my life
under her wing, in her shadow,
wanting and waiting for some sign
I existed beyond my physical presence.
I think about how sad it is
that I should feel this way
even as a grown woman
that the dread of aloneness
sits so close to the skin
I never felt comfortable in.

© Aleathia Drehmer

---

STRAND

One strand
of your golden hair
upon my arm
draws my flesh to rise.
It is provocative
like a mistress
interfering with a life
already established.
Its’ delicacy
tips the balance
of good and evil
within me,
where I stand
feels undetermined.

© Aleathia Drehmer

---

DEMONS

I spent three days on the train,
three days wallowing in my own
smell, hair greasy from cold water
washing in the coach car bathroom.
Every stop new faces appearing,
familiar ones dissolving into
the glint of the hot sun.

Riding the rails is like an
endless state of limbo.
Time does not matter, does not
change from state to state.
The rhythm of steel wheels
like a second heartbeat
that chases the first.

Being broke and young
I spent the bulk of my time
in the smoking car
eating dollar hot dogs,
and drinking oily coffee.
At night, I played cards for hours
with the black porters,
their red suits with golden buttons
slightly undone at the neck.

When the sun would rise
I would sit in the viewing car
surrounded by windows,
but never by people.
The orange light of dawn
passing through glass, through me
as if I did not exist at all.

When the night came again
murky as crude oil,
I would contemplate my fear
of changing, fear of leaving,
fear of coming, fear of not changing.
I would watch the shadows
of horse head pumps,
drilling for liquid gold,
bobbing and racing in the darkness.

The lurch of the train seemed louder
in the silence of hundreds sleeping,
and it closed in on me like fear.
I would shut my eyes to it,
my body full of aching,
the delirium of kinetic energy
conjuring up images
of demon horses on my trail
made me wish to find
a stillness I could lay down in.

© Aleathia Drehmer

---

CIGAR

He pulls long and hard
on a sweet cigar,
the smell hanging stiffly
between his yellow, stained fingers
gripping me as I pass.
It reminds me of people
I no longer know or see,
reminds me of things
I can no longer remember clearly.
The smoke rises
around his sagging flesh
enticing the wisps of smoke
to cling to his jowls.
Gray hair is flattened
upon his balding head,
greasy and badly combed
like a winding, downhill highway.
His back is hunched,
the frame of his body
rigidly twisted
in front of the Episcopalian church.
He is teetering on the curb
like the memories
teetering in my head
as he waits for something
that cannot be given.

© Aleathia Drehmer