Your name, a fold creased into my tongue—what followed, naturally, I love you .
How to shake loose what the mouth and larynx and lungs know? To say little
of the brain, habits of the heart. I let time be water and sunlight.
Let spring and summer come. Turned as leaves at autumn’s center,
and still these letters, still the habits of mind, of hand, the sound
thin, thinner now. Your name like a whisper, some echo in the air.
Explore Related Work: Donika Kelly I practice one leaving each season. This morning before dawn, my bag in hand, . . .
Jenna Le The aisles were carpeted in oyster-gray, with deep blue edging, and they sold a damn good wild-rice soup. One service that they offered free of charge: they’d snap your headshot, print it on a card for you to keep
Lesley Wheeler Finally, I consider whether I have been a terrible mother. A squirrel limps by, too wilted for chatter. I might just be.
I would wake early, Saturdays,