This
This
Poem by Rose Auslander
Art by Karyn Eisler
Your spine unrolls
and flattens
my heart.
Trickling from the ceiling fan,
your sweat,
my blood,
no words.
Lying on our backs,
trying to
conceive
how we have no words
for this.
Oh Lord
of the alphabet,
grant me words,
unborn words, extinct words . . .
for snow almost melted
but still in perfect flakes,
for a hope so inarticulate
it can only break.
Grant me words
for this.
-refers from the word back in Scott Owens’ poem 13 Ways of Angels
“a hope so inarticulate it can only break” — what a lovely phrase for something antithetical to lovely.
doesn’t that line just feel like breaking? like something so fragile!
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