Tag Archives: aleathia drehmer

Aleathia reading her poem Inherent Topography….

If there’s anything I’ve learned from the Dodge Poets and poetry event’s I attend it’s that sometimes you can get more from a poem without reading it and hearing it be read out loud to you….

So I won’t be posting the poem in this draft (of course you can always find it in the current issue)

but here is the link to an audio file of Aleathia reading her piece


  • We liked the lines about “the heart that can’t control its destination of its beats” and the “sleeping back rise and fall like overthrown countries in turmoil”. There’s a certain flow to this poem that exists when she reads it out loud and if you are looking at the piece you see how that works with her stanzas and line breaks. All the stanzas are 4 lines each except for the first one which has an additional line which draws focus to the title of the piece within the poem.
  • The shorter lines at the end help create a conclusion for the poem and gives an additional sense of isolation from the short 2 word lines unlike the rest of the piece which is more concrete and descriptive. Even the last three images we are given, the pen stopping, the books toppling, the trucks racing prepare us for the lonely ending.
  • The contradiction of asking an uncle in prison for a soft hand is unpredictable, but fitting for the next line talking about “misguided morality”.


and don’t forget tomorrow is Flashback Friday where we will be celebrating Flag Day and Maurice Sendak’s Birthday with an original picture from Where the Wild Things Are that featured an Idiom flag….

Poet Aleathia Drehmer from The Idiom

This week we are going to feature poet, Aleathia Drehmer, from Current Issue

Here is one of her poems and the next few posts over the next couple of days are going to feature the audio files that she submitted which talk about this poem and some audio of her reading it!

Inherent Topography

My ears buzz with the rushing
of early morning highway tires—
trucks moving cargo across
imaginary maps across
inherent topography.

I place a pile of books
on the side of the bed
where I’d rather see your
sleeping back rise and fall

like overthrown countries
in turmoil. I stack them high
to keep the truth
of your invisibility a secret.

I write a letter to my uncle
in prison asking for a soft hand
on my misguided morality
knowing he would understand

a heart doesn’t control
the destination of its beats;
it doesn’t discriminate when love
moves in without asking.

4 pages later the pen stops
and the books topple
and the trucks keep racing
away from me until I see how alone

I really am. I shut
out the light
and listen
for your breathing.