What’s Left to Say
In the interview I say, The poem knows more than I do.In the bedroom I say, Fuck yes! I say, Mmhmmmm. I say, I’m tired.In the classroom I say, The desire for pattern is innate.In the kitchen, to the dirty sink, I say: Le sigh.In the nursery I say, Baby, do you want some milky on the other boobie?On the sidewalk I say, Oh, a dead sparrow—a finch?I say, I don’t remember which kind is bad luck.In the garden I say, I’m sorry I neglected you.In the bedroom I look out onto the amber street and say nothing.In my life I have said, I love you to whomever would listen.In my life I have said, I shouldn’t have said that.I have said, I didn’t realize how much…
You're reading a preview of
The American Poetry Review (Digital) - 1 Issue, September/October 2023