The city was New York.
The time was 7:29 pm.
One could see the sun.
The season was spring.
The temperature was 63°F.
It was not raining.
The time was 7:29 pm.
One could see the sun.
The season was spring.
The temperature was 63°F.
It was not raining.
From That Which Comes After
Alexis Pope
The morning a thick
Reversal of not moving
I make these silhouettes
Of former self
I’m not in it
Cut through paper
Rebuild a beginning
Made up of tiny stars
So tiny I can’t make out
Your shape in the bed
Framed by my hands
Over your side
Ways in which we glue
The storyline to hold
Up to the light
On the backs of
Our children we strap
Our histories in order
Chronological reasoning
Remap the directions
A trip I’d like to take
Or revalue my value
As held under
Gentler valleys
You gather me
In bulk write my name
In your throat
I tell you to stop
And you will
That’s the kind
Possess me as
Non-object & I won’t
Stop flowering in your
Springs keep us in place
Bounce you back into
A style you’ll name me
But only if I ask