Coleman Stevenson: from Breakfast, No. 13


Just because something falls apart in your hands doesn’t mean you broke it.
They need to decide— the rest of us are waiting.
He is buying an axe to take apart the used up Xmas tree
but that is not an answer. In the Vietnamese
restaurant window, another month will turn these
green globes orange as they ought to be,
now already as orange on the inside as secret suns.
But I am too hot to be patient. I need to freeze.
Make my face into cold flowers,
leaves so iced over they’d snap if touched.
Could the garden stay encased this way all winter,
emerging still fully grown at its end?
I’ve stored heat and light, given none away.
So much curious energy burns through me
I blow the lightbulb when my finger flicks the switch.
Let’s build an ice cave and live in it.
I promise I’ll wear nothing but furs.


COLEMAN STEVENSON’s poems often deal with how the built environment is inhabited: how its structure impacts the paths of our stories or how it is manipulated to suit human need as we construct our ongoing narratives. Really excited about her presentation with Nora Wendl on February 24 for The New Structure!

Posted: January 16th, 2014
Categories: General Interest, The New Structure
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