A Poem by Dana Curtis

Dana Curtis

Dana Curtis

Dana Curtis’ third full-length collection of poetry, Wave Particle Duality, was recently published by blazeVOX Books. Her second collection, Camera Stellata, was published by CW Books, and her first book, The Body's Response to Famine, won the Pavement Saw Press Transcontinental Poetry Prize. Her work has appeared in such publications as Hotel Amerika, Indiana Review, Colorado Review, and Prairie Schooner. She has received grants from the Minnesota State Arts Board and the McKnight Foundation. She is the Editor-in-Chief of Elixir Press and lives in Denver Colorado.

Palimpsest

Now, I will write about sadness:
talk about birds with broken fingers,
a nest I built beneath icy water and
ruined twigs. No one listens anymore
to the dark and empty places, to blocks
stacked in the grass for no reason
anyone can fathom. I always assumed
repair to be possible, distortion
reassembled into a weeping willow
arching over a pond full of boneless fish.
I once sat by a stone lion, became my own
insignificant world while the feathers
covered me like rain. Now, I will
write about fear: I find all my lost
loves asleep like hallways that might
as well be circulatory and nervous. At every
crossroad, I build a shrine with whatever
bones are available. Scatter me
as if ashes were moonlight on water.