by Zoë Vorisek
I dig up a shameful thought in the backyard
say the right to grief is a disservice to the living
churning a dead poem I carve into a withering tree
we stand around a bowl—octagon yellow
say the right to grief is a disservice to the living
Satan says, what’s the point? I say, eat the question
we stand around a bowl—octagon yellow
clean the fishbowl spit out the I & split the point
Satan says, what’s the point? I say, eat the question
Satan says, do you want to see? I see— words
clean the fishbowl spit out the I & split the point
the what wraps around my tongue hides in the line
Satan says, do you want to see? I see—words
say the right to grief is a disservice to the living
the what wraps around my tongue hides in the line
please Satan says, words are enough! I say, even the wrong ones?
***
Zoë Vorisek is a graduate of Harvard College and an MFA candidate in poetry at Brooklyn College. She received the 2024 Himan Brown Poetry Award and the Hogan Greta Buchwald Fellowship. Her work has appeared in Oddball Magazine and Eunoia Review.
댓글