National Poetry Month Day 2: Kimberly Grey

By

Kimberly Grey is the author of The Opposite of Light (Persea Books, 2016), winner of the 2015 Lexi Rudnitsky First Book Prize. Her work has appeared in Tin House, A Public Space, Kenyon Review, Boston Review, and other journals. She is the recipient of a fellowships from the Civitella Ranieri Foundation in Umbria, Italy and a Wallace Stegner Fellowship from Stanford University, where she recently taught as a lecturer in creative writing. She lives in Menlo Park, California.

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Love in the Time of Trump

We need a form to form us, we need a form to teach
us the facts. How, actually, it is form that un-renders us
now: my back against your back.

This is experimental. We need a form to re-form us.
Your face and my face are just shapes, cracked
and stacked like blue cubes,

like two single wounds. What is time, I mean, what
is time? Are we, in order to be kept, too keeping?
Is love really a mountain

that just stops? When I say, why aren’t you weeping
I mean, weep with me. We need an affectionate form,
we need a home various

with love. This is experimental. Everything is sad
but I cannot describe the sad. I can only describe
the outside of sadness

which is like a slug and too soft to touch or take.
Are we alright in each other and is form just a question
of what we can’t make?

We need a form that informs us. Everything is
wrecked, our house is wrecking, we have stumbled
out of, wherefrom, near to

and hence – even language has become unbearable,
love; our once I can’t live without you, now
our dear, why won’t you be my panic?


Original poetry published by The Rumpus. More from this author →