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I drew the eraser
first because I knew
it better than I knew
myself and because
it had been around
the block before me
and because it would,
after having its way
with me, rub up against
everything I’d ever loved.
Copyright © 2018 Andrea Cohen. This poem originally appeared in Kenyon Review, November/December 2018. Used with permission of the author.
We funnel it between the stones.
What stones become is what
holds them together. A crushing
summer: white hydrangeas, in
dry winds, nod. In Adirondacks
we can’t fix, in a twilight beyond
repair, we recline, and an orange
tanager—what you asked
We build these
into the dream-
house, holes drilled
into window sills,
so rainy days
drain out. No
dream’s complete
without looking
ahead, without
seeing ourselves
for Philip Levine