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.
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