Winter 2014 • Vol. XXXVI No. 1 Poetry |

Last Night

    Then he said it was like learning the hard way—as in, too late— that maybe recklessness     is overrated, and though I disagreed, I did not say so. I disembarked instead. … Behind me, the skiff     keeps nudging the pier, rough sex diminishing or just now revealing itself—a difference that,     from here, I can see matters; it should. It should have. Sometimes the light can seem     to stand in for reluctance— last night, the dark did. I have rested my hand on the beloved's head. As with     regret—so, too, with prayer. His skull; my hand. There's a trembling inside the both of us,     there's a trembling, inside us both.

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Carl Phillips
Carl Phillips is the author of thirteen books of poems, most recently Reconnaissance (FSG, 2015). He teaches at Washington University in St. Louis.

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So the Edge of the World

By Carl Phillips

    Then he said it was like learning the hard way—as in, too late— that maybe recklessness     is overrated, and though I disagreed, I did not say so. I disembarked instead. […]

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