Slip that sunset into an envelope and mail it off, leaking little orange along the flyway. Turn the telescope to where all our dead strike matches that singe
God’s eye. Time drags them around the eyelash seconds of each earthly clockface, a wire across boredom. Our dead skip the moustache moon like a big jumprope of cold, coiled fire.
Speak to them not of life’s sly underhand. Sad sparklers--meant only to render the source text. The living just ampersand any language the dead produce as tender.
A fearsome doctrine, but photogenic such slickered blood-tears of pomegranate.
Consider the trek of the antelope, the rabbit’s bounds, the young hawk’s soarage. A gun’s jaw, the jagged maw where end-of-hope melts quiet down the throat as a lozenge.
What hunts here, veneered tooth and tail, hunts brash, each smoke signal sung up from hapless fire. No lion’s skill at mathing the herd’s rash flash into range, just the bullet’s desire
to inscribe its story on bone, understand pain’s need to inflict pain, the surrender of breath to mortality’s reprimand. Violence: both borrower and lender
somehow bleed. Towering, orogenic: the victory of a wrong, puny planet.
Mind Like a Mirror That’s Been in a Fire for CD Wright
January: just an envelope of loss, numerous as hues of orange contained in flame or autumn. Telescope to pull the stars so close they cut, they singe
and then speed off. A sky and its eyelash moon, the boneman’s wish, this new year all wired to blow. I rummage through years, a moustache, old hat, disguises of the selves we fire.
Some dark crop, this new year’s fast underhand plucks her from the highest branch to render as strike on our paper mache globe, ampersand tear: starred hole. Out spills our her: attender-
come-shining, streams of gleaming, photogenic- ruby-many-rains from pomegranate.
-- Ariana-Sophia Kartsonis teaches at Columbus College of Art and Design and serves as faculty advisor to Botticelli Literary/Art Magazine. Her stories have appeared in a number of journals and won awards in Glimmer Train, Story magazine, Los Angeles Review and others. A collaborative chapbook: By Some Miracle, a Year Lousy with Meteors, written with Cynthia Arrieu-King, won the Dreamhorse Press Prize and was published in 2013, and another: Aloha, Vaudeville Doll was published in 2014 by Dancing Girl Press. Her previous collection Intaglio, winner of the Wick Poetry Prize was published in 2006 by Kent State University Press. Her second collection of poetry, The Rub, winner of the Elixir Press Editor’s Prize, was published in 2014.