POETRY - ISSUE FOUR
Bell in the Water
CYNTHIA CRUZ
Darboven panels and a catalogue
Of stars. Or death.
Through the rush
Of newly driven snow.
Evening, I wander lakeside
Heavy with the tomb of sorrow
Dropped deep inside me.
Ephemera, and trauma.
I thought I could stop
The incessant hum
By moving from city
To city,
By starving clean
The body.
The miraculous leveling out
Of meaning.
Obsessive archiving and collecting
As a means to stop the hum and drone
Of memory, the diamond-white
Rush of doom.
Of stars. Or death.
Through the rush
Of newly driven snow.
Evening, I wander lakeside
Heavy with the tomb of sorrow
Dropped deep inside me.
Ephemera, and trauma.
I thought I could stop
The incessant hum
By moving from city
To city,
By starving clean
The body.
The miraculous leveling out
Of meaning.
Obsessive archiving and collecting
As a means to stop the hum and drone
Of memory, the diamond-white
Rush of doom.
The Silver Cradle
I rode in a golden Benz
Into the silver scrim.
Cells, dust, and scum.
Love, my dumb and fevering
Fox, the black sin of fear,
Singed deep within us.
Into the silver scrim.
Cells, dust, and scum.
Love, my dumb and fevering
Fox, the black sin of fear,
Singed deep within us.
Cynthia Cruz is the author of three poetry collections: Ruin, The Glimmering Room, and Wunderkammer, forthcoming in the fall by Four Way Books. Her essays, book and art reviews have been published in the Los Angeles Review of Books, Hyperallergic, The American Poetry Review, and The Rumpus.
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