Winter 2006 • Vol. XXVIII No. 1 Young WritersJanuary 1, 2006 |

Park of the Doria Pamphilj

I know I was startled to feel like this,staring straight into the eye of the storm,the stone pines turning toward me and away— stands of them standing, and then bending back,and showing the filigree of their crowns,the lace of their brains against the gray sky, brandishing themselves like many giant wands,or pinwheels or kaleidoscopes, gray-black,green-black, showing the inside of their minds, and not colliding though it seemed they could,and ruffling the sky with their big green hair.I was there, I'm telling you, I was there, and I saw it like a cocktail party:we were all holding up our martinisin long-stemmed glasses, looking at our minds, as wet and dreamy as a stormy sky,pining for a departure or a part,a promenade through the ancient city. I was a madwoman wearing a green hat,I was a maenad or a martinet,or a mannequin waiting to be dressed, and leaning toward my friend the skeleton,a scope or a decision, or a hope,pinning me to a purpose or a part, el

Already have an account? Login

Join KR for even more to read.

Register for a free account to read five free pieces a month from our current issue and digital archive.
Register for Free and Read This Piece



Or become a subscriber today and get complete, immediate access to our digital archives at every subscription level.

Read More

Starlings

By Sarah Arvio

I know I was startled to feel like this,staring straight into the eye of the storm,the stone pines turning toward me and away— stands of them standing, and then bending […]

Subscribe

Your free registration with Kenyon review incudes access to exclusive content, early access to program registration, and more.

Donate

With your support, we’ll continue 
to cultivate talent and publish extraordinary literature from diverse voices around the world.