Skip to Content

Share

Phoenix

By
August 1, 2013

Leeuwenhoek was a draper with soft brown hair cut in two sloping planes
like collie ears. Close up he saw threads and then worldthreads and
what was inside of that? He held a rod of soda glass in flame
until it pulled apart into whiskers. The whisker tips tinked off into mini orbs,
eyes and eyes upon his eye.

He saw kind rich men walking through the dark as if through a city.
Their silk ties lifting in wind. And tender underneath. Phone wires bowing
like sails. Skin smell and mush smell of roses. A radio
helplessly beaming horror whistles from Jupiter. A girl holding
a hair-threaded needle. Imagine what must be very far away, he thought,

very very far away!

G

Press here to play the MP3.

Author Image

Molly Brodak is the author of A Little Middle of the Night (University of Iowa Press, 2010) and three chapbooks of poetry. She edits the poetry journal Aesthetix and teaches at Emory University.

Photo courtesy Natasha Wheatland.

Readers like you make Guernica possible. Please show your support.

Tagged with:

Share on FacebookShare on TwitterAdd to BufferShare on LinkedInShare on TumblrSubmit to StumbleUpon
Submit to redditShare on App.netShare via email