free hit counter
 

Whatever its real name
The feeling is absurd

 

            Something lights the spark

 

It always starts in a matrix
Weather, illness

 

            Dough for the bread

 

The early impulse

I assign a reason

 

 

 

 

Unwillingness to cancel or postpone
Lineage

 

Liking it

 

Spitting or other provocations
Crossing water
Overexplanation

 

Disquiet

The wrong door

 

Duration of embrace
Enmity
Misattribution

 

Due diligence
Holding a beloved object

 

Increased tolerance for the unpleasant
Willingness to be called beloved

 

The hypnic jerk

 

Loam

 

When the systems of the body fail in a pattern

This is the error catastrophe


Each moment unmade

By its quick intimacy


Distance brighter than the eye
Brighter            than what I remember as an eye

 

 

 

 

 Again the dream of the river

Today the scene is empty

 

            I admit I was warned

There was a sense of things queasy

            or skewed

 

But my god, the lawn running down

and the red swell of the water

the sudden lush of grass along the bank

and the pliancy at the edge

how the current seemed respirant

the ground steep and verdant

more than any desire

the elision, the collapse

 

            I tell you I came as I am

 

When you’ve seen it happen

You’ll understand how it announces itself

 

This is why we burn the dead

 

I know what turns the body as it rots

I know the softest parts recede

 

It seemed wrong that anything should touch you

But water or fire

 

Wrong that you diminish

By slow degrees

 

(You were never patient)

 

Antonina Palisano holds an MFA in Poetry from Boston University. She works and reads on grief culture, Greek myths, lobotomies, tubercular dreamboats, and domestic anhedonia. Recent publication credits include Third Point Press, Quaint Magazine, and inter|rupture.