behind the curtains
the windows seem black
yellow light
from the kitchen pressing in,
declining to name
I remember attrition
and sweetgrass
and the knock at the door
like a sweet melody
I remember
you’ve moved through gravity
and history
and the story of the ten
thousand tapestries
whiling away like light
lapping against
tissue and dispersing
remembering you’re still afraid
of edges and pine needles
and the soft skin
of a peach
please stay with me
I remember
I cannot bear
the black outside
Samuel Gilpin is a poet living in Portland, OR, who holds a Ph.D. in English Lit. from the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, which explains why he works as a door to door salesman. A Prism Review Poetry Contest winner, he has served as the Poetry Editor of Witness Magazine and Book Review Editor of Interim. A Cleveland State University First Book Award finalist, his work has appeared in various journals and magazines, most recently in The Bombay Gin, Omniverse, and Colorado Review.
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