Danielle Rose
On the Creation of New Language from the Reading Lists of the Dead
after a death / when i taste my own need like unpleasant iron bleeding behind a bad tooth / this is when we become like blankets in winter / it is how loss reveals a new language / & why at night i wonder why the sound of a running faucet brings panic / or why the sight of an owl in flight / makes my heart race with joy / there is small magic in how suddenly my kitchen feels like a different home / and where the rough edge of that chipped dinner plate becomes a flowerbed & then blooms / there are even discarded bits of paper raining like poems / raining like so many useless poems / because grandmother you read “ulysses” when you were sixteen but you will never read my poems / so i can only believe that soil is just one way to cover a grave / & that burial is ever-present
in the graveyard / three men in yellow reflective vests / heap dirt into an open wound
in the graveyard / three men in yellow reflective vests / heap dirt into an open wound
Biography
Danielle Rose lives in Massachusetts with her partner and their two cats. She is the managing editor of Dovecote Magazine and used to be a boy.
Twitter @KittiesnStars Selected Publications @ bit.ly/2XuhiaY |