now between us there is only
the space between an ice cube
and a bubble which is which
pen we will take in which hand
of our hands whose hand in our hand
we don’t write to each other
having reached a distance hard to carry through
if I name the color of this spot
on the crabapple pahlomay
that’s what it sounds like
(not pink noise, density not being proportional to frequency)
could it accurately describe the tinge of heart
of a dying man one floor above?
the last place
will know itself only as soon
This selection comes from Janelle Adsit’s collection Unremitting Entrance available now from Spuyten Duyvil. Purchase your copy here!
Janelle Adsit‘s poetry has appeared in publications such as Sixth Finch, Confrontation, The Cultural Society, and Lalitamba. She lives in northern California where she teaches creative writing at Humboldt State University. www.janelleadsit.net
Ben McClendon is a PhD student in creative writing at the University of Tennessee. He previously studied poetry at Northern Arizona University after teaching high school English for several years. His poems have appeared in Indiana Review, Yemassee, Ceasura, Chariton Review, Redivider, Rattle, and elsewhere. He is currently Assistant Poetry Editor for Grist: The Journal for Writers and a poetry editor for Four Ties Lit Review. Ben lives with his husband in Knoxville.