is what it means to be a
blood streaming down
in early morning light,
a Rorschach image pressed there
the wings of another possible
released into imagination—
holding itself tightly. The body
to open, to let go. How can
soothe itself to ease this ache?
can it remember the slack in-
feeling of no-pain, the gift of pain’s
It must try to remember
as the motion of memory
wet and warm and unstudied—
diverging from itself, another
in the intricate delta of possibility.
Phoebe Reeves earned her MFA at Sarah Lawrence College, and teaches English at the University of Cincinnati’s Clermont College in rural southern Ohio. Her poems have appeared in The Gettysburg Review, Hayden’s Ferry Review, Forklift OH, Phoebe, and Best New Poets 2018.