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I stream consciousness,

withhold emotion,

nest inside myself. I shelve

a fleeting thought, manifest

an echo. I know

your secrets, hear as a handcupped

ear. I keep you

from the point:

I am the life of the poet

(b. 1986, whose life will end)

when I am unified.

Already, I closed around

her father. I was the sound

of his final word,

a telephone wave, transmitted

to her. I was the hole

in the ground.

The stone on his grave.

The mourner’s yarmulke,

the mouth

of her grief, the shape

of his face, the cleft

on his chin, how she

cleaved to him.

The space inside which

she waits

and waits.

from Poetry Northwest 09.2 Winter & Spring 2015More by Callie Siskel from the library

Copyright © Callie Siskel
Used with the permission of the author
on behalf of Poetry Northwest.

Published in Callie Siskel Poems

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.