Christine Kanownik

Lamentations

I sigh more often
than I did last year
this year, out loud.
I did, just now, sigh
audibly. Everyone
heard me sigh. Are you
really so wistful,
you dream-eyed
bastard? I might
ask myself, if I
could be trusted
to have an adequate
response. No,
instead, I sigh
once more. Looking out
the window this
time. Thinking of
things I can’t tell
you now. Am I really
so ashamed of myself?
Yes, always, sigh
always. So delicate.
Willowy. Bred from
my own inaction
and my reliance on feeling
rather than action. If I
acted I would not
sigh. I would like
to be remembered by
you. I want you to remember
me and the fact that
you won’t
produces my most
prodigious sigh yet. I sigh
to this day. I have
remembered everything,
recently, at least and I
will continue to
remember and to
obviously sigh as
I remember. Maybe
this ends too
​easily, but it does.
​

---

Laws & Misdemeanors

                                          
Be witness, children, papa’s killed his mistress and me,
I’ve given this a lot of thought. There is no language
barrier and no tight thing, once loosened, will shut again,
so quit trying and devote your energy towards more a
useful thing. Dad’s on the sink when the phone rings.
He picks up; no answer. Sounds have been inserted:
ticking, phone ring, crickets. They suggest
isolation, lateness, that time still exists, the absence
of pop’s guilt. We have to carry these things.
We can barely. This day is my father’s
​only: They are so strong and destroy.
​

---

Up by Your Hair

It isn’t a thrill
cautious correction
every time I time and time
and what’s a bargain
if not paradise what is a
statement of fact
if not running through
the forest

Last time I saw
you there were
fragments of another life
in your life but what is
working when construction
is really necessary
glorious buildings outside
or around isolation

now not you not you
now we are a crooked
measuring tool
now I’m still drifting
agelessley all age
no age you are the
child of your age when
you get older grow
writing a letter using
hair a disgusting letter
that I eventually
have to throw away
even though
the sentiment is perfect


 


--
Christine Kanownik is the co-founder of Augury Books. Her reviews, art, and poetry can be found in past or upcoming issues of: H_NGM_N, Lungfull! Magazine, The Poetry Project Newsletter, and Ping Pong. In 2008 she performed a theater residency at the University of Chicago where the collaborative piece Memetic Jukebox was staged. She currently lives and works in New York.