Winter 2024 • Vol. XLVI No. 1 PoetryDecember 5, 2023 |

Aubade with Selichot

Look how the light bruises 
the sky, how the crickets shred 
quiet with their chatty back legs.

Look how the potted plants open 
their palms for the sun, the back door 
swings its hips, the dog leaps out 

already talking, the house fills 
with that silted reminder of fires 
up north and the stairs creak 

with the confidence of something 
men made. Morning has a way 
of shoring up the good milk, 

strata of possibility taking 
the coffee-stained stage. And you ask 
again for a day of celestial advances. 

You ask to be witnessed, wearing 
your mother’s old shoes. Wearing 
the sky’s yellow blue bruise. 
Photo of Mónica Gomery

Mónica Gomery is the author of Might Kindred (University of Nebraska Press, 2022), winner of the Prairie Schooner Raz-Shumaker Book Prize in Poetry; Here Is the Night and the Night on the Road (Cooper Dillon Books, 2018); and the chapbook Of Darkness and Tumbling (YesYes Books, 2017). Her poems have been awarded the Sappho Prize for Women Poets and appear most recently in Poetry Northwest, The Massachusetts Review, The Iowa Review, and Poet Lore. She lives in Philadelphia and serves as rabbi and music director at Kol Tzedek Synagogue.

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