KIMBERLY QUIOGUE ANDREWS
But don’t you think we already have enough meteorology, she said
In rain, the forthcoming incident.
Hair in the thin stockings of semi-soluble what’s left.
The mind’s levers and the recording of what is beautiful
in a conventional way,
organic forms, the tiny exhalations
of the rosebushes in the palace garden--
dark shutters fastened to a much lighter-colored plaster wall.
If it were butter yellow,
would we blame the air,
would we blame the engagement
and its wooden planks. In the event. In the brick of the book
on the table and the pages
which rest upon one another like capabilities,
the incessant hours alter what we perceive to be gray,
what we perceive as striation. Who needs more thoughts
about the sky, anyway.
The lack which hovers beyond has already been theorized
as the moment before waking in which you think,
falsely, that your face has been cradled
in the hands of a minor God.
KIMBERLY QUIOGUE ANDREWS is a poet, critic, essayist, and Pennsylvanian. She is also the author of BETWEEN, winner of the 2017 New Women’s Voices Chapbook Prize from Finishing Line Press. A two-time Academy of American Poets prize winner and a Pushcart nominee, her recent work in various genres appears or is forthcoming in Rambutan Literary, The Shallow Ends, The Recluse, the Los Angeles Review of Books, ASAP/J, Textual Practice, and other venues. She lives in Maryland and teaches at Washington College.
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