rob mclennan is the best correspondant, even if I am the worst. Here is a poem from a book I received today:
from modern and normal, Karen Solie.
Your habits drew me. I could tell by the way
you leave the milk out at night, bread box open
and grains untied, that you are passionate
and I was smitten, lived with you for months
before you knew I was alive, learned the wiring
of your moods, drinking from your cups
and tasting leaves of every book you’ve read, sly
and devoted as a friend. Forgetting the wisdom
of my kind, I cried out one night when you walked
through the door, and the set of your mouth
was a new kind of poison. You say
there can never just be one. It’s understood.
But be assured, you don’t know everything. I am
alone. When you bring others to our home
I make a scene. If they really loved you, they
would stay. I rest on your pillow, lick your soap,
embrace your toothbrush while you’re gone. Now
you’re setting traps, eyes mean as bleach,
but I can’t believe you really want to do me harm.
You’d miss me and not know why, my voice,
the grace notes of my feet. So I keep my hunger
wrapped up tight, watch my step, come out late
to stare at you from a dark place, and wait
until you’re fast asleep before kissing you goodnight.