On January 1

Elizabeth Robinson

for Norma Cole

 

 

Time is light,

 

that’s all.  Her tongue

 

a version, a map

 

version, where star maps

 

are always off-history whether

 

translating light

 

from a far galaxy or a local

 

cloud.   “Oh!”

 

she said, a figure of herself,

 

“Yes.”  Whereupon the light

 

threw itself down and pierced

 

her tongue, where it remained

 

like a stud, that she clicked against

 

her teeth as she spoke.