Razielle Aigen is a Montreal-born poet. Her fist chapbook, “Light Waves The Leaves” was published by above/ground press 2020. Her poems appear in Entropy, Deluge, Contemporary Verse 2, Ghost City Press, Train, Half A Grapefruit, Bad Dog Review, The Anti-Languorous Project, and elsewhere. Razielle holds a B.A. in History and Contemporary Studies from Dalhousie/King’s University, and is an alumna of The Writer’s Studio at Simon Fraser University.
k, bye
if the pale morning
moon were still
to faintly linger
with sky-blue sluicing
through her irregular
rice paper surface
as a lasting impression
made in a subjunctive mood
by the night;
then the sky (as a context
for the conditional)
will become paralyzing;
contingent on doubt
or hypothetical desire, desiring
a discharge of the insurmountable
fear of beauty
and the quietude
of a palaeolithic night.
(you know,
that time that came long before
we came to know ourselves)
here
in this pale place
of if
of other
of opacity
admittedly,
none of your beauties,
none of your lobster-coloured geraniums,
go unnoticed.
flower by passing flower
you leave no broken hearts.
k, bye you say
and I wonder,
how many lifetimes
we’ll live through this
fading facade of night.
Hozzászólások