Poem of the Day
from Penitential Cries
By Susan Howe
Stand up facing the wall, chair behind you. Not feet splayed outward, you cannot go that low
Stand up facing the wall, chair behind you. Not feet splayed outward, you cannot go that low
I hugged myself
and it changed my aerodynamics.
I began spinning out of control.
I like it when I’m looking
At a woman’s wrists
I like it when a woman likes to look at my wrists
I was the poolboy but it was billiards
I got up on the table with a feather duster
and did a little dance like the honeybee
there’s only one season under capitalism
spring
The war is over.
The builders come:
they build doors with archways; the ceilings are high
A steep cemetery of a smile,
the last century—what a century!
Just its fur was moving.
With a snare, they lifted it
and sealed it in a garbage bag.
I want to take
responsibility, to say I made it hard—
I only made it hard for him specifically.
A toenail clipping floating in a toilet bowl
like a crescent moon reflected in water