The Agency of Weather
I am determined by degrees. The key sticks only in darkness, only when damp. In the brittle thaw I will seed a willowing brush, a lavender that fades with one touch. The fog settles at another level; it will always veil, dull the space between your elbow and my waist. Black ice, the depth of fear. I will wilt. I will shiver, back stiff before the arbiter of inclinations. I will burst and each tree will shed before you seal me out.
after David Rakoff
The mounting of sorrow, skinned. We begin the next time with a smaller step, the consideration of removal. The island fled, the body’s tangible failure. In toxic preservation it is the gestures themselves, we grasp vainly at the barre, their repetition, their slowness. Some taxidermists strive for the echo of movement, to hold the figment of a hardening form tamed, it all hollows one out. To sew without visible seams, to comb and pose that which would remain feral. The figure lost; the lie of limb by barren limb.
Aviva Englander Cristy is a teacher and writer living in Milwaukee, WI. Her chapbook, The Interior Structure, was published in 2013 with dancing girl press. Aviva’s poems can be found in Arsenic Lobster, The Hollins Critic, BlazeVox, So To Speak, Spoon River Poetry Review, Prick of the Spindle, and Best New Poets 2012, among others.