What is the Cube Root of Memory

by | Apr 6, 2021 | Issue Twenty, Poetry

The past          has us passed out in attic rooms         six to a futon bed,

eyes heavy after sucking         smoke from lawn ornaments—

or younger       sun kissed in a coastal cottage           waiting for the clang

of brass handles your uncle’s ghost                was said to pluck like harp strings.

Later in the log cabin  we discovered a minister’s                robe

& danced         until blasphemy became buoyant       like belly laughs—

or later still     in a moment yet to come       in which we float

to a riverbed loft         lined with moon jellies & glassworks

from our hometown.

What is it called this thing      between living & luster

standing present          inside moments passed           & others

yet to come—

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