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Razielle Aigen

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)


in this pale place

of if

of other

of opacity


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.



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