May/June 2019 • Vol. XLI No. 3 Nature’s Nature |

Ire

It’s got to be somewhere your anger and like the moon though very far away still leaves an impression, is apt to hover by the bedroom window a child stares through from disheveled blankets. Her husk of a throat. Her dangling bewildered hair. You know how violent that anger can get —  a white streak of rat, wide as a slap, an owl’s severed cheek, fur brambled in barb, a human forehead gashed from the brass bull slung at a wine glass. Somewhere you must have a moon-and-anger gang too loud to hear, too close to feel. Those hoodlums stuff a stealth of leather to stifle each scream. Some things shine only when they’re in opposition. That anger quiet as the near-dead, near-dead as the moon with a knot for an eye, quiet as a thistle hissing and bloating in a lake, quiet and its blunt bullet-taste, metallics of pure unspared air. Nothing pure about this atmosphere. Quiet shelf, book-quiet. Readers talking about the death of quiet. You know. Doctors talking in hushed to

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

Forest

By Alessandra Lynch

It’s got to be somewhere your anger and like the moon though very far away still leaves an impression, is apt to hover by the bedroom window a child stares […]

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.