Fall 2010 • Vol. XXXII No. 4 PoetryOctober 1, 2010 |

The Anatomy of May

Hooded and strapped. Buried in dirt. Locked in the strait of seed. Calling, calling, The birds through the morning freshet, The worm in its slow lope Through the Dark Night of the soil. I am parched, sir. Widowed from the body, too long in the down. Remember That short pleated skirt? The switch of music in the air Like a chickadee's arrogant tail As you nosed your way into my sprawl on the bare Floor of the apartment, leaving me A believer. Tell me now Who is Lord of the sealed flower, Who presides over the denouement Which is an opening? The tulip knows. Pokes, claws, Shoulders against The catastrophe of snow as it buds its way To engorged red. We thought we were in charge that day. And how Was it our Bodies dissolved and out of you Came what seemed to have an inkling of its own fortune. But all seed is Bolshevik, Initiates revolution and then goes husk. Still: Think: something like a tree invented By a small hard claustrophobe

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.
Clare Rossini’s most recent book, Lingo, was published by the University of Akron Press. She is currently completing a collection that includes poems about science, technology, and climate change. She is artist-in-residence at Trinity College in Hartford, Connecticut, where she directs a program placing Trinity students in a public school arts classroom.

Read More


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


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