ISSN: 1941-4137
POETRY THAT ENACTS THE ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE PURITY OF GLASS
POETRY THAT ENACTS THE ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE PURITY OF GLASS
Kelli Russell Agodon's most recent book, Hourglass Museum (White Pine Press, 2014), was a Finalist for the Washington State Book Awards and shortlisted for the Julie Suk Prize in Poetry. Her other books include The Daily Poet: Day-By-Day Prompts For Your Writing Practice (coauthored with Martha Silano), Fire On Her Tongue: An Anthology of Contemporary Women's Poetry (co-edited with Annette Spaulding-Convy), and Letters from the Emily Dickinson Room, winner of the Foreword Book of the Year Prize for poetry and a finalist for the Washington State Book Awards. Her work has been featured in the Atlantic, Harvard Review, Waxwing, New England Review, O, the Oprah Magazine, and on NPR. Kelli is the cofounder of Two Sylvias Press where she works as an editor and book cover designer and is also the Co-Director of the Poets on the Coast: A Weekend Writing Retreat for Women. She lives in a sleepy seaside town in the Pacific Northwest where she is an avid paddleboarder and hiker. She is currently working on her 4th collection of poems.
Also by Kelli Russell Agodon:
Hourglass Museum
Letters from the Emily Dickinson Room
The Daily Poet: Day-By-Day Prompts For Your Writing Practice
Fire On Her Tongue: An Anthology of Contemporary Women's Poetry
Hunger
Previously in Glass: A Journal of Poetry:
SOS
I Don’t Own Anxiety, But I Borrow It Regularly
Once I believed the saint I carried could keep me
safe. He lived in a rain jacket I wore
to keep out the weather and by weather,
I mean danger. Tell me a story
where no one dies. That story begins in heaven,
ends in heaven and includes chapters
on heaven, heaven, and heaven.
It’s not really story, but a wish or concern.
Sometimes I wonder if there’s one moment
when no one is dying, where we all exist
on this planet without loss—
but there are too many of us
doing foolish things, someone is always sipping
the arsenic, someone is always spinning
a gun. And then,
add old age, misfortune, a tree that’s leaned too long
in the forest and a family of five
headed off for a hike.
We cannot predict our tragedies.
We can’t plan a party for the apocalypse
because friends of the apocalypse know
the apocalypse always shows up
uninvited and with a bag of half-eaten chips.
This is why some of us wake up
in the middle of night looking for saint—
and maybe your saint is the moon,
or maybe your phone, or maybe
it’s that moment you walk out the door
to look up at the stars
just to prove to the heavens you’re still alive.
This poem was written on a poetry date with Susan Rich. I’m not sure what prompted the poem, but I was thinking about loss and death (as one normally does on a Friday) and this poem came from that moment. As someone who carries not only a saint in her pocket, but also anxiety too, I’ve found one of the easiest ways to lose my midnight fears is by knowing sometimes I just need to stand outside on my deck at 2 in the morning to feel secure.
Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.
All contents © the author.
