[Alzheimer's] [raw footage] [early afternoon] —Dennis Hinrichsen
for my grandmother
If we meet in a room near a curtain of rain
If I am a desert of dust and talc
A syringe underwater
If I am blossoming again but without scent
A piece of film blackening
Beautiful because no one’s there
*
I can stare // you
know // I am
good at staring //
I can stare
so long // say
at reeds under
water // or at
water over reeds //
or at the current
in both // the aqua
electrical // I can
feel that place
in me // with time // un-
folding //
—in motion // perpetual
motion // cut
from time // the
room // the day //
—that spiraling
nest // like a heaven
*
... but then cut and/or blink and/or thirst and/or sun-on-the-wall-like-a
curtain-of-water
*
— but the wall // like the afternoon // burning
down
[zona pellucida]
—Mother // I have blessed us // I have taken
father’s dress
& given it to Jesus //
—father doesn’t need it anymore // he can be boy again
with just his body //
that heaven-chilled wound // sorrow //
which to us was harm //
now a sail of breathing // different harbor // zona
pellucida //
—he’s new worm now // soul static // speck
of blood for a heart //
—& so this glyph // which is not revenge // but prayer //
believing only in the cell’s half nothings // zero
& zero &
zero dividing //
—when he’s fully boned // kited // in full possession
of his eyes //
may the gloved hands there // faces
shadowed // briefly brace with adoration // & encircle him
Fincher-esque
I was not cold // I was not distant // I was a
machine that observed well // mornings //
so when he craned
to scan the soft flesh // I craned & pawed // imagined
the blonde grains gone // the smoothed perfection //
—& when
the blade bit // I bit // I tilted // zoomed //
—his eyes
were still alive then // as warm as farm-gathered eggs //
—bloodshot membrane // chalaza //
tethering gray-blue dots //
so when he rubbed at the weariness there // I rubbed //
& when they powered down & snapped
I let my own lenses snap
—I was not a gun saying no // cold bullet of
son // give me everything you own //
I was skeletal // mechanical //
—I loved that he smoked when he shaved // deep drag
ghosting lungs // seek the stupor //
—then puff across the blade // as if to bless it
AUDIO ON // faucet dripping as if from an opened vein
[Alzheimer's] [anatomy of an action as lost text]
she blinks—
(I smell papyrus burning // not
one great fire // but fire
driven by coup //
—rebel specks in the blood // revolutions)
hands caged
in sunlight
(or just old scrolls // crumbling
brains in a heap //
—no way to copy the code // the Q document
gone // Sappho
gone // Inventio Fortunata gone //
but the whirlpool there //
—the Arctic)
fingers
(disconnected pieces of land)
blued // bloodless
(—unmoored // the compass
pivot) eyes
wild (all vector stripped from them)
(These poems are from the chapbook [q / lear] from Green Linden Press.)
David Axelrod
Devon Balwit
Hugh Behm-Steinberg
Erika Brumett
Jennifer Bullis
Lauren Camp
Greg Casale
Laura Da'
Denise Duhamel
Alejandro Escudé
Jeff Ewing
Michael Hettich
Dennis Hinrichsen
Safia Jama
Eleanor Kedney
Kasandra Larsen
Patrick T. Reardon
Matthew Schnirman
Maureen Seaton
Jeffrey Skinner
J.R. Solonche
Carolyn Williams-Noren