Incubation, revision

Curriculum Vitae

The city is a sickle that cuts
the throat. The dawn a nascent wound,
the dusk a bruise.

Stars are knives, rain washes crime.
The moon a medicine that goldens
pain. This is my living: inventing

the limits of this page.

—Razel Estrella

Went through my old (read a decade++) drafts. There are poems I've written in graduate school that I still hang onto with the promise that I'd take them to the finish line.

The poem above is an example. I submitted it in a small workshop, but I can't remember the panel and the participants' feedback anymore; except that they loved the music in the opening line.

I got stuck subverting the sky cliches. Last night things clicked and now I'm letting this poem go [in Marianne Moore font].