This selection, chosen by Guest Curator Jordi Alonso, is from Empty the Ocean with a Thimble by Elizabeth Kirkpatrick-Vrenios, released by Word Poetry in 2021.
Consider Your Malice a Minor Disaster,
a stitch dropped, a tied naught, a hole singular, what did it matter what might not come after? You're a factor of nothing, a sum of no matter a flat spot's blind crack behind tuneless guitars. I considered your rancor a minor disaster. But love's cloaks, torn open, discarded in tatters, bumblebee's sting and wasp's repertoire taught me it mattered what clatter came after. The choke and the blow are your fury's cruel masters, a dusky eclipse, a gnarled icy gnarr, your malice, I learned, a certain disaster. Your knot of self-loathing destroyed you much faster than memory's last gasp or my fuddled memoir, for it no longer matters what might not come after. You've shrunk down much smaller, you're no longer vaster. The heat of your ego can no longer scar. I consider your sickness a feeble disaster and yes! Oh yes, Mother, a lifetime comes after.
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