ATLANTIC  |  poem

A Room of One’s Own

2023-06-07    

I rehearsed the syntax—should I first: apologize? confess? joke? —a fern here, a lily there, the subject here, the object there. Run on I creased the sentences into flightless origami; drafted monographs on silence—its juicy neurosis, its daft meter, my poor scansion. The predictable comparisons.Alphabetized my 12 memories; abridged the rest. Check and check.

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