Carolyn Supinka
Sea of Crises
People named lunar craters after bodies of water
because that’s what they look like from far away.
I log onto Telehealth and appear to be a different person
than the day before. My doctor floating, unmuted
in an inoffensive blue expanse, exchanges information.
Data is falling all around us like rain. We could be anywhere.
My wound wears stage makeup, preens, agender and dewy,
blessed with good lighting. Let’s conjure up Cassandra in the group chat,
ask if she every tripped over how to tell her story. If her phone screen
ever cracked into a spiderweb, sweaty with breath and skin oil.
All my nesting dolls have shattered. A domino effect
stretching deep into the interior. It’s clear that there’s more
than one force pulling the tide. Nothing is visible fully all the time,
and sometimes my body changes depending on the light. I’d be a better moon
than a patient. I’d love to be seen as something predictable,
if far away. To be called new when I disappear.
Carolyn Supinka is a writer and visual artist from western Pennsylvania. She currently lives in Portland, Oregon, where she creates poems, comics, and prints, and works as an arts administrator. Her work has recently been published in Hobart, DIAGRAM, The Hunger, Radar Poetry, and Sixth Finch, and she is the co-editor of Conjunction, a zine micropress.
Return to May 2022 Edition
People named lunar craters after bodies of water
because that’s what they look like from far away.
I log onto Telehealth and appear to be a different person
than the day before. My doctor floating, unmuted
in an inoffensive blue expanse, exchanges information.
Data is falling all around us like rain. We could be anywhere.
My wound wears stage makeup, preens, agender and dewy,
blessed with good lighting. Let’s conjure up Cassandra in the group chat,
ask if she every tripped over how to tell her story. If her phone screen
ever cracked into a spiderweb, sweaty with breath and skin oil.
All my nesting dolls have shattered. A domino effect
stretching deep into the interior. It’s clear that there’s more
than one force pulling the tide. Nothing is visible fully all the time,
and sometimes my body changes depending on the light. I’d be a better moon
than a patient. I’d love to be seen as something predictable,
if far away. To be called new when I disappear.
Carolyn Supinka is a writer and visual artist from western Pennsylvania. She currently lives in Portland, Oregon, where she creates poems, comics, and prints, and works as an arts administrator. Her work has recently been published in Hobart, DIAGRAM, The Hunger, Radar Poetry, and Sixth Finch, and she is the co-editor of Conjunction, a zine micropress.
Return to May 2022 Edition