Shy Anger: A Poetry Collection In Three Parts

By Kelsey Ray Banerjee

What is anger – and why do we try so hard to ignore it?

As a debut poetry collection, the free-verse poetry in Shy Anger offers a duality between domesticity and wilderness, depression and joy. This feminist poetry collection of 100 poems divided into three parts as the wanderer explores anger, agency, and acceptance. Intertwined are images that span across time, spirituality, and geography.

Sample Poem:

back to simple things

there were three of us.
ankle-deep in creek water,
humidity so high
you’d think you were drowning,
but all we could taste was summer.
narrow water veins stretched
across a vast unknown
which we later learned
led to the interstate,
at that moment.
locked between silver metal fences
that public backwater was a moat
and we were on a pilgrimage to youth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kelsey Ray Banerjee
• Release date: Sep 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005157807

Kelsey Ray Banerjee

Hi, I’m Kelsey.Memphis raised, indefinitely living outside the U.S. of A.More of an immigrant than an expat.When I’m not working or writing, you can find my drinking chai, sketching, reading, or making calzones and cakes.My first poetry collection, Shy Anger, will be published on August 21st, 2020.

Book preview

father,

it has been over a decade

since my last confession;

in fact,

that crisp Lenten day,

you in your purple,

I refused to come in,

giggling,

because I had committed nothing

worth an intermediary.

under lock and key,

anxious not to make trouble,

a natural people pleaser,

what could a child do but

laugh at sin?

today my prayers are mingled —

mangled, a clutter of languages and deities:

my god is one but also many,

mismatched mountains in a monomorphic range,

I’m not even catholic anymore,

but for old time’s sake,

will you listen?

Part I: Logos

Never have I dealt with anything more difficult than my own soul, which sometimes helps me and sometimes opposes me.

-Al-Ghazali

ain’t you sweet

the waitress to the wanderer:

your mother taught you right.

piled on oak and polystyrene

the traveller carves pancakes with plastic spoons,

mutters:

if one more person

calls me sweet

I’ll rip their heart out and eat it.

how can you look at tattered lashes

blazing black eyes,

blood on the back of my hands like syrup

and call this sweet?

we call angels beautiful

until they open their six wings,

something so haunting

not even the bible describes it.

no,

I am the minotaur,

this city is a labyrinth;

one day I will break these walls

to see the sun.

logical reactions

hun, are you okay?

asks the cashier,

thumbing one-dollar bills with

manicured nails.

the wanderer explains:

stub your toe

glass slapped out of your hand

knuckles at your throat

syllables stab at your chest and

your heart weeps like it's losing blood and

heat boils at your throat

words more deadly than nightshade

about to tumble out between your lips -

that’s logical but

be calm, be calm

you let it sink

that blazing sun, bile hardens,

floats gently down like a feather

but it’s there at your feet,

dragging you down as you walk forward

each destination heavier than the last.

one hour’s wage

I met the wanderer outside a Waffle House,

thumbed through my wallet:

I’m fantastic

at $7.25 an hour

I gobble down two

two-dollar burgers

from mickey d’s

with the remainder

I buy second-hand

Doraemon manga in Japanese -

for when I have the time to practice.

I wrench

one more hour’s