TO SOFTEN
What does it mean to hold
you, if not to push & to pull
at the same time. This
room is filled with warmth
from a surrounding snow. We
linger at the translucent
bowl, filled with amaretto
-laced batter. Tonight, to fold
means to mix gently, lifting
as not to stir. We know there
is a fine line between a man’s
aspirations & the rhythm of an
entire room. There’s a lastingness
of to crease and an ambiguity
of to fold. Surrounding us,
a yeasty noise, relatively
thick, that I savor but can-
not otherwise describe.
THE ORIGIN OF THE WORLD ACCORDING TO MY FRIEND, A NIHILIST:
CARDIOMYOGENESIS
…the diversions were elaborate beasts,
sequins-covered acrobats building mirror-
walled elevators or neon rope ladders,
and they gave human intentions to each
jovial knot, murmured lingual meaning to every
tongue-tied twist – look, ma, no hands – all certainty
and predictions, too. But you sought the quick
refuge of quiet wrists, carrying nothing but
celadon veins, these truly swollen heart-
strings, which are always crawling
back to the involuntary, hollow…
Heather Lang is a poet, literary critic, and adjunct professor. Her work has been published by or is forthcoming in diode, Pleiades, and Whiskey Island among other publications. Recently, she was awarded the Spain 2015 Murphy Writing Scholarship and the Fairleigh Dickinson University Baumeister Award. Heather, an FDU MFA graduate, is an editor for both The Literary Review and Petite Hound Press, and she will serve as an AWP16 moderator/panelist.