If This Is the Age We End Discovery
— After Aimee Nezhukumatathil’s “Chess”
I’m never looking right when the first snow falls.
My view outside the window is broken by the fire escape.
Like most it looks rusted, painted over too many times.
This is how I must look inside.
In the hospital they have to use the smallest needles.
My veins are narrow, closed, won’t let them drink
And I’m punctured so many times, I pass out.
I’ve come to faint days before I know blood will be drawn.
Listening to her read her poems on SoundCloud
Calms me when I hear the sleet, the whipping
Of time petrified on sheetrock as I’m collapsing
Into vessels they can’t find yet
Again. She is the most beautiful woman in the world.
I'm envious of people who learn of her
For the first time. If there’s no more originality,
And mutation, then that is the one thing
You could do again. Do you too miss
The storms that snowed you in
And there was nothing you could do
But fear the end? Those days too
We think are gone. We shouldn’t.
If only I could say I slept. I’ve forgotten
Just when I wasn’t in hospital beds and never
Counting to ten, the nurses unknowing
The grace of it all
As they stroke my head: She’s gone out again.
If only I’d gone somewhere.
If only this was to board a ship
Under the grace of her night
Which brings to life
Those things on a flat world
Of black and white.about the author