Virginia Konchan
Four Noble Truths
Hunger makes us, drives us
to Orion’s belt to beg
for a tureen of soup amid
the night sky’s wonders.
I cut my teeth on leather.
I rip the hide of another.
Hunger for what we do not see,
cannot know, compels us
beyond the liminal into the
starched white light of dawn.
I close my eyes and voila:
beefsteak tomatoes, eggs,
zucchini ripening on the vine.
It breaks my heart to tell
you this, but there is no end
to this hunger. There is
no end to desire, in time.
Testament
I want to turn the night into a feast.
I want rosemary-flecked potatoes,
seafood paella, and chilled sorbet.
I want chandeliers on every fence post,
indicating disposible income, or
the sudden liquidation of assets.
I will look into hair extensions,
eyelash extensions, and fake nails.
Does silicone float, sink, or sail?
Draperies made of gold damask;
floors of old-growth redwood;
aquariums filled with exotic fish.
I want a mirage, but unpeopled,
without staff. When it dissolves,
I will be alone again, a believer at last.
Virginia Konchan is the author of Vox Populi (Finishing Line Press, 2015), and Anatomical Gift (Noctuary Press, 2017), Her poems have appeared in The New Yorker, Best New Poets, The Believer, The New Republic, Boston Review, and elsewhere. Co-founder of Matter, a journal of poetry and political commentary, and Associate Editor for Tupelo Quarterly, she lives and works in New York's Hudson Valley. www.virginiakonchan.com
Return to November 2016 Edition
Hunger makes us, drives us
to Orion’s belt to beg
for a tureen of soup amid
the night sky’s wonders.
I cut my teeth on leather.
I rip the hide of another.
Hunger for what we do not see,
cannot know, compels us
beyond the liminal into the
starched white light of dawn.
I close my eyes and voila:
beefsteak tomatoes, eggs,
zucchini ripening on the vine.
It breaks my heart to tell
you this, but there is no end
to this hunger. There is
no end to desire, in time.
Testament
I want to turn the night into a feast.
I want rosemary-flecked potatoes,
seafood paella, and chilled sorbet.
I want chandeliers on every fence post,
indicating disposible income, or
the sudden liquidation of assets.
I will look into hair extensions,
eyelash extensions, and fake nails.
Does silicone float, sink, or sail?
Draperies made of gold damask;
floors of old-growth redwood;
aquariums filled with exotic fish.
I want a mirage, but unpeopled,
without staff. When it dissolves,
I will be alone again, a believer at last.
Virginia Konchan is the author of Vox Populi (Finishing Line Press, 2015), and Anatomical Gift (Noctuary Press, 2017), Her poems have appeared in The New Yorker, Best New Poets, The Believer, The New Republic, Boston Review, and elsewhere. Co-founder of Matter, a journal of poetry and political commentary, and Associate Editor for Tupelo Quarterly, she lives and works in New York's Hudson Valley. www.virginiakonchan.com
Return to November 2016 Edition