Jess Kadish
The world will be made while
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we’re steeped in something else, like brewing the coffee: grind, pour,
filter, drip, drip, drip, day in & out & in and out & one morning we’ll look up from the too-hot cup, singed fingertips singing, & see snow where we could have sworn the trees were just barely at their peak of green. Last summer I swam in a lake down the road from where I’d lived for years. I never knew it existed, yet there it had been the whole time: full & swollen wet, the surface a thin film of smeared insect bodies. As we treaded water sixty feet deep, sun-warmed at our shoulders & spring-cold at our toes, the woman who owned the lake said to me— “This time of year, the world shifts toward death, though we can’t see it yet.” On the shore: weeds tall as sunflowers, yesterday just tiny things, now bending beneath the weight of their own extravagance. Shameless blooms already turning timid. Soft petals to crisp curls. The air buzzing with the longing howl of cicadas. They’ve spent so long waiting. They’re finally here. They don’t have much time. |
Biography
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Jess Kadish (she/her) is a queer Jewish writer whose poetry has also appeared in Hooligan Magazine. She’s a member of Chicago’s 2nd Story collective, where she writes, curates, and directs personal narrative performance. You can hear some of her work on their podcast. She’s also an actor, and you can find out more about that at jessicakadish.com. The title of this poem was originally a text from a friend who meant to write “the world will be made whole” but thankfully was just one letter off.
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