The unfamiliar is not a threat in this poem but a holding space where the speaker's old categories can loosen.
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The unfamiliar holds me without hands. Its floor is made of almost, its ceiling of not yet. I stop searching for the old room. Somewhere beneath my feet, a different balance begins.
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A thing without a practical name resists ownership and remains open to a less instrumental way of seeing.
A contemporary poem about the way the body misreads, using a concrete image system, a pressured turn and a restrained open ending.
A contemporary poem about two things stay down, using a concrete image system, a pressured turn and a restrained open ending.
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