Uncrowned Queens Institute, Inc.

7 Articles

Joan Papalia-Eisert ×

The Brown Eyed Girls

by Uncrowned Queens Institute, Inc.

Aug 27, 2026 Poetry

Turn on the TV, what do you see Another beautiful blue-eyed blonde snatched from her family Is it epidemic all these golden angels in dire conditions Or is it you especially caring for those girls' pr...

Joan Papalia-Eisert

by Uncrowned Queens Institute, Inc.

Aug 27, 2026 Poetry

flush-faced and large you trudge even down the stairs heaving smokey breaths waddling and grunting "i can't believe I came all the way down here to see only tow white guys play" your wife doesn't reme...

Joan Papalia-Eisert

by Uncrowned Queens Institute, Inc.

Aug 27, 2026 Poetry

Reminiscent of my mother's sheets looking lonely on the line when September was too warm and we were gone has my sweet caramel daughter nibbling an apple in her wading pool each look a book while I'm ...

Joan Papalia-Eisert

Flat Days

by Uncrowned Queens Institute, Inc.

Aug 27, 2026 Poetry

in the secret daytime world that belonged to mothers before now the whish of long-spaced traffic was muffled in my sanctuary as i lay on the living room couch in front of the picture window with venet...

Joan Papalia-Eisert

Floaters

by Uncrowned Queens Institute, Inc.

Aug 27, 2026 Poetry

Slim chances in my fat eyes accumulate like daily dust in anything ornate They're in every striation of my irises every movement of the vitreous gel until all i can see is the worst that can happen My...

Joan Papalia-Eisert

Washday

by Uncrowned Queens Institute, Inc.

Aug 27, 2026 Poetry

it's hot it's hot it's monday on her head again her melting dark chocolate baby sits in the corner of the folding table his eyes lit with the shiniest duskiness i've ever seen his cry is thin she scol...

Joan Papalia-Eisert

What We Can Have

by Uncrowned Queens Institute, Inc.

Aug 27, 2026 Poetry

*this is my offering for peace: If we go to the desert in stillness, in emptiness If we let the wind, the sand the darkness permeate our visceral souls If we collapse in utter exhalation to the hollow...

Joan Papalia-Eisert