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
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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 |
