The Swan, No. 3 (Hilma af Klint)

From “Please Bury Me in This” [Now my neighbor through the wall ...]

Now my neighbor through the wall playing piano, I imagine, with her eyes closed.

When she stops playing, she disappears.

I am still waiting for the right words to explain myself to you.

When there was nothing left to smoke, I drew on my lips with a pen until they were black.

Or is this what it means to be empty: to make no sound?

I pressed my mouth to the wall until I’d made a small gray ring.

Or maybe emptiness is a form of listening.

Maybe I am just listening.

Allison Benis White

2016

I remove my heart from its marble casing and grind that shell into glass dust and force the dust and the occupational core into a box barely big enough to hold them and watch while the self-sealing lid sets itself. I then take the contraption to a place to which I doubt I will ever find my way back, even if I wanted to which I don’t. I have zero desire for what has been buried after having been done with like that one that was once.

Mary Jo Bang

2017

Poems

The Swan, No. 3 (Hilma af Klint)

More by this poet

Dear P.

From “The Trees Witness Everything”

OBIT [The Blue Dress]

Poems

Page submenu block

The Swan, No. 3 (Hilma af Klint)

More by this poet

Newsletter Sign Up