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
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.… read more

Poetry
Dec 11 2020
Poems: Janette Schafer
Elixir When I was five, I discovered alcohol in abandoned red cups scattered about the Green House, the first place we lived in Detroit after Venezuela. Dad rolled blunts… read more

Poetry
Dec 11 2020
Poems: Ronda Piszk Broatch
I’ve Got an Asinine Affinity (Infinity?), a Clumsy Love Song The bees of the heart weave stillness into a conversation. String theory is smaller than the bees in the honey… read more