Friday, September 25, 2015

Vasoconstriction -by E.G. Cunningham

What trickle-down, tear-drop, upside pear
it’s been. How innumerable the goings,
how tightly interwoven, boredom:
the sledging-through & chest bludgeoning
of a year. Not that you’d been. Land moved
under our feet & we didn’t know
what to call it.
The opposite of this bounding is not liberation.
But when I’d gotten there,
to another part of the heart-globe—
that cannot be described in language,
can only be described through language—
I stopped.

Buckled under, under the bone saw
lub-dub such shifting induces. I promised
to come back. To talk to the house.
But obsessed about what America tastes like,
instead. That’s what I’m painting:
a kind of mental water-treading
that’s hard to let go of for fear of drowning.

Land shifting under feet
& that’s called water.
Cope has many definitions—
what are the motions needed
for swimming through it?


E.G. Cunningham's poems have appeared in Blackbox Manifold, Drunken Boat, Poetry London, SAND Journal, Propeller Magazine, and other journals. A graduate of the Iowa Writers' Workshop, she is a PhD Candidate in Creative Writing at the University of Georgia in Athens. 


No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.