Monday, September 5, 2022

Ori Fienberg : Two poems





Hot Nap

Sure, sex sells,
but have you ever
browsed the sleep

aid section of your
pharmacy? Purple

velvet masks make
somnolence sexy

again: what could
be hotter than the

weighted blanket
that must groggily

be lifted, shucked,
discarded, every

night in order for
air to reach heavily

dewed skin. It’s so
dirty to say I must

sleep well tonight,
almost taboo, with

all the content we
will surely need to

catch up on when
we wake, or living

in states that have
banned rapid eye

movement, unless
you are staring at

your phone in bed
or watching every

clock, and shadow
for a sign of alarm,

for hours at a time
like this, with the

moment of crisis
dissolving under

our tongues like
a melatonin pill.



At the Quarry

It’s been another sticky
day at the municipal
fruit quarries mining

cantaloup contentment
carving glistening
pink gold from

natural fissures in crisp
watermelon canyons
which drip juices

that make the sunsets
jealous; now it’s dark
and the celestial

melonous moon cools
us with honeydew
from on high.





Ori Fienberg is the author of Old Habits, New Markets (elsewhere press, 2021). His writing has appeared or is forthcoming in venues including the Cincinnati Review, The Dallas Review, Essay Daily, Heavy Feather Review, Obliterat, Pank, Sixth Finch, and Subtropics. Ori teaches poetry writing for Northeastern University’s College of Professional Studies. Read more at and follow @ArtfulHerring for poetry and political tweets.


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