This week we offer a new poem by Luiza Flynn-Goodlett. Flynn-Goodlett migrated to the Bay Area after completion of her MFA at The New School. She was awarded the Andrea Klein Willison Prize for Poetry upon graduation from Sarah Lawrence College. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in numerous literary journals, including Meridian, Prism Review, Carve, ZYZZYVA, and The Greensboro Review. Her chapbook, Congress of Mud, was recently published by Finishing Line Press.
The seed of this poem was an incandescent memory of climbing out of a dark lake onto a dock lined in flares—the tension between the adult celebration and the child’s, to whom the holiday was about sparklers, berry-studded cakes, and deafening explosions. I’ve never thought of childhood as an idyll, but as a corral flanked by whispers; the adult darkness is forever seeping in, all the more menacing for being unspoken.