Poetry | September 28, 2020
Poems: Nicholas Yingling
The Early Symptoms
Storm and understory. How a body learns
between the thin years and wet season
to take the burning ring in, to keep growing.
(Some change in light may be necessary.)
These are febrile days. The world and I off
by a couple degrees. Today we broke
charcoal from coprolite, anthrax from rein-
deer in the permafrost and on the drive
to the coast I could barely grip the wheel,
that after-hours feeling in my hands
like a network signing off or snow falling
in abandoned malls. (What use is weather-
stripping when you live in a golden state?)
Unlace these for me. The drift glass is soft
under our feet, in our blood. The waves
break, and no matter how hard you hold me
the sea will never repeat itself.
If you are a student, faculty member, or staff member at an institution whose library subscribes to Project Muse, you can read this piece and the full archives of the Missouri Review for free. Check this list to see if your library is a Project Muse subscriber.
Want to read more?Subscribe Today
SEE THE ISSUE
Mar 02 2021
Poems: Teresa Ott
Trembling Was All Living, Living Was All Loving, Some One Was Then the Other One In the amniotic gloss of the past, feathers floated to the surface, then flew away.
Mar 02 2021
Poems: John Gallaher
Division (Architecture 5) Let’s watch the process one more time. During the first stage of mitosis, prophase, we see the classic chromosome structure. Notice the DNA condensing. Outside, my neighbor
Dec 11 2020
Poems: Jamaica Baldwin
Forbidden Let me go back to my father in the body of my mother the day he told her, Having black children won’t save you when the revolution comes.