Nicole Callihan
​

This Strange Garment

Morning. Absent of sound
but for the winter wren,
 
the space heater. Millstone.
Fontanelle. Skein of geese.
 
Threat of rain. How to
sustain? Jean said that on
 
the anniversary of her death
we should sit in lamplight,
 
sing to a bowl of lemons,
praise the resonant sac.
 
O bladder & follicle.
Hymen & tree. The underside
 
of me. So purply bruised.
To what do I owe the honor
 
of one more cold day,
the warm script, the grit
 
& gloss of being? Mother
writes to say she still
 
can’t taste. The curdled
cream. I dreamed it was
 
afternoon. The spirit pined
for an avenue of bodies.
 
An evening rush. What comes
after the after? A blouse
 
on a doorknob. The hush.




Nicole Callihan writes poems and stories. Her books include SuperLoop, The Deeply Flawed Human, and ELSEWHERE (with Zoë Ryder White). Her work has appeared in Kenyon Review, Colorado Review, Conduit, The American Poetry Review, and as a Poem-a-Day selection from the Academy of American Poets. Find out more at www.nicolecallihan.com. 


 
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