is to take your cast from the atelier to the foundry, to let someone else heat the bronze so hot his skin— not yours—might melt as he fills the hollow mold, so that what remains is something you once touched and never touched.
Poetry 89
Laurel Hunt: exit, covered in paint–
rook takes knight, paw knocks lock. or hiccup of smoke & covered in paint, violet. very fond. returns goodbye hugs for store credit. then again, touches on noses & we could meet strangers by pouring fifteen to twenty percent of our body weight onto them—if we are / have bodies—& this would require not talking, […]
Lia Greenwell: At the Kitchen Sink
I didn’t face my God down daily or ever. I let him go like the bowl that left my hands as I dried it—its white shards spread out, aligning into new constellations on the floor. Nothing could have stopped it.
Laurel Hunt: Hush now, traveller
May your house be full of tiny chameleons. May you keep bamboo floors in the wake of the flood. May the whales change their throats and ears just for the hearing of your song, and so become deaf to the songs of all other whales. My mother says she’s never felt degendered by math. Oh, […]
Jess Feldman: Wyeth
for Hillary The general shape of every dream I ever have is her taffy pink dress coiled around her middle; like clothes she washes, it spills out. Her hands, stiff and brittle, ill-used balers rusting in the neighbor’s hay barn, some middle-aged white woman clutching the late August grass – It’s her last chance at […]
Barbara Duffey: The Frankfurt Kitchen
—the first small, thin, unified-concept, mass-produced, fitted-cabinet kitchen First, man had a kitchen. For a long time, it was the only room. It was bachelor balm, it was stick- stick-stock, it was a family sugar summer, all nigh as God when there are just four walls. Then after the war, in its smoke-jack world, there […]