Kakosmos

By JILL PEARLMAN

Human systems exist in the mystery
always at the point of spilling 
over green, over and over their present containers
of cities and grids and human perception

for what of entanglements, what of catastrophes
what of black holes, of soot from burnt timber
what of seashells, snails, urchins in the pavement
of ancient Greek settlements 

what of cats, what of pale bones of anchovies 
that fishermen leisurely strip and drop in buckets of murky waters,
how objects tell their tales when we let them
spinning off like water from a wheel that springs energy

or the way traffic sighs like clouds that go quiet before a storm
I put myself in the mess of it, nothing is left out
of the divine kakosmos, life is in life, it lives and dies and flows,
gulls weep like dogs 

stones at the railing of a palazzo split like petals of a tulip,
a resting place for sentries with bow and arrow
we’re on a precipice, a man in the street wears red, 
an alarm, warning to others, a human biological response when things don’t decompose

Maybe I’m dreaming in the haze with its gleam on my railing,
I dream of bridges, renewal of the world that is also the mind’s renewal 
eggs stuck with a few stalks of hay held by manure 
fecundity recycled back into a rose 

 

Jill Pearlman’s poetry explores ecstasy in the decentered self and world. Her sequence “L’Eau and Behold” was recently shortlisted in La Piccioletta Barca. Her poems have appeared in Salamander, Barrow Street, OSR, Crosswinds, andIndicia. She produced the multimedia “Trees Road Vertigo,” documenting the fate of plane trees in France.

[Purchase Issue 28 here.]

Kakosmos

Related Posts

Close-up images of cardboard boxes.

More to the Story

MICHAEL DAVID LUKAS
My Grandma Betty’s garage, like the rest of her house, was always neat and well-labeled. The tools hung in their places. The floor was swept clean. Along the walls, DIY wood shelving was stacked high with boxes labeled according to their contents. Herb Toys. Xmas Decorations.

Image of laundry hanging on a line.

Real Estate for the Blended Family (or What I Learned from Zillow)

ELIZABETH HAZEN
Sometimes I dream of gardens— // that same dirt they kick from their cleats could feed us, / grow something to sustain us. But it’s winter. // The ground is cold, and I dare not leave this room; / I want to want to fix this—to love them // after all—but in here I am safe.

Closeup of empty double bed

Little Women

MEGAN TENNANT
Before we peel off to bed, Ruth suggests we close with a prayer. We all bow our heads, the buzz of the fluorescent light and grasshoppers growing louder in the silence. I hear the tones of my dad—earnest, grateful—and I feel my head become heavy, my closed eyes twitching.