Poem Beginning in Berlin, Ending in Boston, and Bookended by Rilke

Copyright © 2026 by Tiana Clark. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on March 17, 2026, by the Academy of American Poets.
I once made a diorama from a shoebox
for a man I loved. I was never a crafty person,
but found tiny items at an art store and did my best
to display the beginning bud of our little love,
a scene recreating our first kiss in his basement
apartment, origin story of an eight-year marriage.
someone asked me if my husband left me, or if I left him. After
the reading, someone asked me if there was a chance for
reconciliation as I shoved a pulled pork sandwich in my mouth
with Carolina Gold BBQ sauce oozing out the sides like neon
—after Carrie Mae Weems’s “Roaming” series Before I knew how to fill my onyx body with slick measures, dip every curve in my skin with dark sway, I needed a picture. Before me stood a long black dress I called Woman— you stand opaque with your back to me, a statue of witness, the door of Yes— I can Return to the monument of your silhouette to find my longest muscle. We both stare down the ocean to stillness. O, Carrie— what are you trying to tell me here? I’ve been standing by water my whole damn life trying to get saved.