Inherit, and: Dear O
- Inherit, and: Dear O
Inherit
In her, it.It, in her.Hereditaryshe
heard it said.Or somewhereread. Her hair.Her thinning
hair. Her hearing,poor. Herheir. She was.In her was
her. In here.The air aroundher, herair also.
Mother. Mothto light. Toair. She, too.She, two. [End Page 37]
Dear O,
Out of the box, the frying pan, the gate running, I won this life on the nod.Odd it is to be or not be.
So I loosen the noose and think. How in the beginning was the eye, the spring, and thenthe tear, the drop. How in the beginning was the little “o!”that issued us forth, and yes, terminal, too.
O,
I am out of my mind and in the woods with grief;the world is whacked and out of order.
Day it is and there is no moon to be over.I am on the rocks, the rope, the razor’s edge.
Over and over I say your name;I breathe you in. Mouth without voice,you circle round. 1.3 billion light years away,ago, two black holes collide; a bell in the universerings. [End Page 38]
Cintia Santana’s work has appeared in Beloit Poetry Journal, Michigan Quarterly Review, Missouri Review, Narrative, Pleiades, RHINO, Threepenny Review, and other journals. She teaches poetry and fiction workshops in Spanish, as well as literary translation courses at Stanford University.
