residence in a time of horror
it was something gloomy out there—in the gloaming, in the ground
that gives, ground that takes. yes, it is a brutal planet we have, it says:
danger, do not enter. and what direction are you running, love? did it hurt to be
outside? under the local meadow, blood invades, the virus moaning delicious
into wilder life. what is there to do but tremble, become a softer element,
supple, foraging for antidote, a small, ardent berry to reside here, to resist.
erasure of Hillary Clinton’s concession speech
thank you. thank you all. thank you
all night. I’m sorry. we hold our
country. I feel it too. this is painful.
we hold our country. you mean
more than I can ever. lift me across.
the body is pain, is public. it hurts
now—the glass is deep and weary.
Emily Corwin is an MFA candidate in poetry at Indiana University-Bloomington and the Poetry Editor for Indiana Review. Her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Gigantic Sequins, glitterMOB, Hobart, smoking glue gun, and Word Riot. Her chapbook, My Tall Handsome was recently published through Brain Mill Press. You can follow her at @exitlessblue.