A Room Unfinished

by Brenna Womer

 

does it end, forgotten darling—
the earth
your rope
what it feels like to know?

everything is a door,
an escape from the light; I
woke up to name the darkness
                                      the lavender, parting
                                         lakes traced open;
remind my heart of the ground,
that the world turns for the devil just the same.

can we know what is holy, 
                                        early boy?
                                              painter, daydreamer
fire from the womb 
             of a child bride,
a mother wed to this earth, to 
the dirt, and pronounced 
                          forever young 
by the prince of darkness or 
dead leaves

I’ve lost patience with remembering, and
trust nothing but your open mouth

are we so bitter and blown-out to ask—
                                                                is this all there is?
fuck me into silence on the eve
                          we lose our shadows,
and light my bones like a candle
so I don’t break you in the dark.

are we alone,
              forgotten darling,
                           waiting on some blue wound,
looking for the other half of a woman,
sun-hungry       lost      and losing sight?

it’s late,
your face is sand,
and we are running out of night.

---

Brenna Womer is a Visiting Professor of Creative Writing at Louisiana State University and the author of honeypot (Spuyten Duyvil, 2019) as well as the chapbooks Atypical Cells of Undetermined Significance (C&R Press, 2018) and cost of living (Finishing Line Press, TBD). Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in North American Review, Indiana Review, DIAGRAM, The Pinch, and elsewhere. She is a Contributing Editor at Story Magazine and Faculty Advisor for New Delta Review.