Rigor Celsius and Intaglio

By SUSAN COMNINOS 

 

RIGOR CELSIUS
in Central New York

 

I’m allotted winter, allowed
Nothing that wasn’t before. Still, I am

Hovering a hand, tender to banks
            of precipitate. May
Our next day be beset by
Nocturnal mountains and stinging stars. Like this
Opinion, snowdrifts? This danger-of-us eclipsing
Rheumy streets and practical plows? Let’s

 

Aid only the air: Mock heat
            of liquid
Nitrogen. A helium head flares up
Down in a New York valley. Lift

 

Praise, shovels and skiers,
Rueful noses and itchy-pant aches. After
All (this temperate, tolerable year), the ice
Is so insistent—
            insensate, specific; flaying tongues that slip
Smart answers to cells
            of the metal
Element: its shrill decree
            that decades and octaves
            drop forever
            gallons below.

 

INTAGLIO
winter, in front of the TV

 

Oh, gray-hair:
Arm of speckled boredom,
Sit awhile
And pull your throat
A cask of some
-thing Peculiar.

 

The villagers are coming.
Let’s smile
With straws
And other
Cupboard staples.

 

Thief. Shoeless wonder.
The drop-cloth
Of the window
Strains the yellow
Light.

 

Oh, poked moon.
You like a flayed field,
Hinged-hipped in the house
Strays built for stones
To live in.

Susan Comninos’s poetry has most recently appeared in the Harvard Review OnlineMalahat ReviewSouthern Humanities Review and Hobart.
Photo by Flickr Creative Commons user spatz_2011

From the beginning, The Common has brought you transportive writing and exciting new voices. We are committed to supporting writers and maintaining free, unrestricted access to our website, but we can’t do it without you. Become an integral part of our global community of readers and writers by donating today. No amount is too small. Thank you!

Rigor Celsius and Intaglio

Related Posts

Long wooden table with chairs. Plants in the background.

Four Ways of Setting the Table

CLARA CHIU
We are holding the edges of the fabric, / throwing the center into the air. / & even in dusk this cloth / billowing over our heads / makes a souvenir of home: / mother & child in snowglobe. / Yet we are warm here, beneath / this dome, & what light slips through / drapes the dining room white.

Two sisters reading together in a green wheelbarrow

Sisterland

NANDINI BATTACHARYA
The descending Boeing 707’s engine can pretend to be the lullaby once in my mother’s veins singing my unborn heart to life if I close my eyes and pretend, but it misses. Instead, the stewardess’ practiced saga of arrival sings the dogged return of a stranger to a strange Ithaca—to Sisterland.

Dispatch: Two Poems

SHANLEY POOLE
I’m asking for a new geography, / something beyond the spiritual. // Tell me again, about that first / drive up Appalachian slopes // how you knew on sight these hills / could be home. I want // this effervescent temporary, here / with the bob-tailed cat // and a hundred hornet nests.