- Suppose the Function Is Praise
Cate Lycurgus, poetry
When doctors have given their final shotor volleys rocket insomniac dark, without thought, lift
your hands. In strobing raids, at pepper spray, with cheekto asphalt, at fault or not, go on, lift your hands. And stand
though gravel erodes to sea, don't grovel or stopas the chopper kicks sand, or knife unleashes shock
and flow—unaided, blood rises—so lift your hands,given this heart's un-assisted pump, no matter the lack
of water to quench a jigsaw of dirt, the belly distended—liftyour hands at the child unplanned who you cannot nurse,
then at the curse of also-ran and lift your hands, whenthe only man you'll ever love has a son with someone else.
Or a husband no longer knows the name of the oneyou raised together: now, raise a glass instead.
This is occasion for champagne, for all the aspirina body can take, for the glint of a chemical sunset's blaze,
and licking high-fructose glaze off those same fingers, just—lift them now in don't shoot please, in fluid go, to save my feet,
at mile sixty when gas burns clean and you've made itpast your dead-end streets, with a single album [End Page 746]
of soul on repeat—lift your hands, at the great unknown,the bank account's mawing O—however infinitesimal
the means become or waist will cinch—infinite—the ways to lift our hands, to coax them overhead—
limitless, our approach. [End Page 747]
cate lycurgus's poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in American Poetry Review, Third Coast, Tin House, and elsewhere. A 2014 Ruth Lilly Fellowship finalist, she has received scholarships from Bread Loaf and Sewanee Writers' Conferences, and was recently named one of Narrative's 30 Under 30 Featured Writers. She edits interviews for 32 Poems and teaches professional writing.