Anna Girgenti
The Heron
There is always this bracing
for what is next to end –
a winter, a country –
All my life is talon
pressed to a rock’s pulse.
A moment of silence
for the cicadas
wailing in their husks.
Still the swamp surprises me
when it becomes a city.
Someone will ask,
Where does it all go?
It becomes a stillness
I tuck under my blue shoulders,
but no matter how still I hold
I can never hold it all.
Anna Girgenti is a Midwestern artist and writer. She was a recipient of the 2018 Iowa Chapbook Prize from the University of Iowa. Her poetry has appeared in various print and online publications, including Cider Press Review, Lunch Ticket, Zone 3 Press, Harpur Palate, and Mid-American Review.
Return to July 2024 Edition
There is always this bracing
for what is next to end –
a winter, a country –
All my life is talon
pressed to a rock’s pulse.
A moment of silence
for the cicadas
wailing in their husks.
Still the swamp surprises me
when it becomes a city.
Someone will ask,
Where does it all go?
It becomes a stillness
I tuck under my blue shoulders,
but no matter how still I hold
I can never hold it all.
Anna Girgenti is a Midwestern artist and writer. She was a recipient of the 2018 Iowa Chapbook Prize from the University of Iowa. Her poetry has appeared in various print and online publications, including Cider Press Review, Lunch Ticket, Zone 3 Press, Harpur Palate, and Mid-American Review.
Return to July 2024 Edition