rachel abramowitz
Your Name
Could be the last thing heard in the snowy valley.
(Might mean, “white,” might mean, “still.”)
Is burning on a surface. Is closed (“pin,” “moon”).
Is without doubt.
(The largest feeling in the house is geographical.
Delusion, what do we call you?)
Is an actual number. Is a danger zone electric
in a kitchen, zinging.
Is a new color discovery, blue on.
(Egg, ice, loop, sun.)
The Party
You have gone
to the party
and will to it until I
am the one with
hair like snow
That party
is decay I
smell it
like an invitation
Where is winter
She has a box full
of away
and has taken it
on her voyage static
I am here to tell
you nothing
is so
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