Poetry | September 28, 2020
Poems: Nicholas Yingling
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 TodaySEE THE ISSUE
SUGGESTED CONTENT
Poetry
Sep 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… read more
Poetry
Sep 28 2020
Poems: Kay Cosgrove
Like the Middle Ages Hell is being stuck in perpetua next door to genius. Like the Middle Ages, whose art and people feel like first drafts of Renaissance greatness.… read more
Poetry
Sep 28 2020
Poems: Allison Pitinii Davis
The Neighborhood Girls Catch Lordstown Syndrome but if you want our version, you’ll pay in installments. You’ll neigh in a stall until we come out and free you. We hear… read more