Nighttime, Enigma, and NostalgiaAmy Small-McKinney
after Arshile Gorky
night, and night.
How can one black
trapezoid be everything?
A child: Vosdanig?
Those eyes. Opened?
I see you.
Actually. Not a child.
Almost a fetus.
Almost a red blanket.
And the body always in pieces.
That I am certain of.
Finally. Merciless boots. Never an enigma.
Look, I tell my mother, long dead. She answers
(in a language I can not speak):
1. When a face is green, its mouth opens.
2. Objects always wander into objects.
3. Believe the browns because they are earth.
4. Be willing to admit white is regret.
Oh, Shushanig. To finish this painting means you are gone.
Dearest, never forget the repetition of black slits.
Or from where you were born.
What remains unattainable, remains.
What chance does this moon have
Standing in line for the Alexander McQueen Exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art
Skeletons & Such.
Renee K. Nelson
Nighttime, Enigma, and Nostalgia
We came upon this road on our way to
Jennifer Liberts Weinberg
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Rebecca Givens Rolland
We built this city
Seven Billion Ankles
Homey Don't Play
Sometimes a Fistful
Michael James Rizza