IT'S BEEN A WHILE SINCE I FELT THIS WAY. THIS BUTTER IN MY GUT. LIKE MOTHS HATCHING
http://www.maverickmagazine.com/articles/397/1/ITS-BEEN-A-WHILE-SINCE-I-FELT-THIS-WAY-THIS-BUTTER-IN-MY-GUT-LIKE-MOTHS-HATCHING/Page1.html
Janaka Stucky
Janaka Stucky currently lives in Boston, where he spends his life traveling, writing, and caring for the dead. His poems have been published in a variety of journals including North American Review, Frogpond, Elixir and VOLT. In 2004, Janaka founded Black Ocean, a publishing and production company based out Boston, New York and Chicago. He likes his whiskey neat and his music dirty.By Janaka Stucky
Published on 11/14/2006
Outside, the snow is knee-high and edibly white.
My footsteps two floors above the morgue
—I am locked in. Here
to answer calls in the middle of the night like
My wife is dead and
to be the one who stays awake with her after she arrives
strips her and covers her
with a blanket.
Here to mop the floor if she purges...
My footsteps two floors above the morgue
—I am locked in. Here
to answer calls in the middle of the night like
My wife is dead and
to be the one who stays awake with her after she arrives
strips her and covers her
with a blanket.
Here to mop the floor if she purges...
Outside, the snow is knee-high and edibly white.
My footsteps two floors above the morgue
—I am locked in. Here
to answer calls in the middle of the night like
My wife is dead and
to be the one who stays awake with her after she arrives
strips her and covers her
with a blanket.
Here to mop the floor if she purges...
Before dawn I sit still
searching
what rough channel contains the code
to break a memory of fingertips
or my childhood by the water.
Because I placed an infant with his stuffed dog
my hands on a grandfather’s head
someone’s wife in the cooler
I need to place within myself something beautiful
forget that loneliness below
and how
I must leave the ones I love
alone, in the company of strangers.
Copyright © Janaka Stucky, 2006. All Rights Reserved.
My footsteps two floors above the morgue
—I am locked in. Here
to answer calls in the middle of the night like
My wife is dead and
to be the one who stays awake with her after she arrives
strips her and covers her
with a blanket.
Here to mop the floor if she purges...
Before dawn I sit still
searching
what rough channel contains the code
to break a memory of fingertips
or my childhood by the water.
Because I placed an infant with his stuffed dog
my hands on a grandfather’s head
someone’s wife in the cooler
I need to place within myself something beautiful
forget that loneliness below
and how
I must leave the ones I love
alone, in the company of strangers.
Copyright © Janaka Stucky, 2006. All Rights Reserved.