#jennifer sperry steinorth

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Jennifer Sperry Steinorth (A Wake with Nine Shades, 2019)

[clatteriing]

[ let the patient describe a door ] in the dark I am not going to I do not know if I am going to I am certainly not going to lay down I will have to pull back the blanket I pulled back of course I would not say yes of course the blanket was tightly pressed between the mattress & the boxspring such is the weight of a mattress a spring a spring such is its lumber it was the room that required sleep sleep ing is how one can slip into no one wants to sleep alone atop a boxspring sound as a drumbeat beat beat   beat beat   beat [ let the patient describe a door ] what does not open can be a relief or a blemish there were tchotchkes for every season & pillows stitched w/messages it takes time to stitch a message I don’t like to come here he likes me to come here to come is the message game a secret I’m not ready let’s start again resend the message do you prefer color or texture I want to choose I came in my dress my dress should know better don’t you agree say please I’ll do better I will I must he won’t tell what’s in my hope chest anyway who says it’s mine [ let the patient describe a door ] in the dark is a fan not turn ing if there is sound it is not out loud I said it’s true then I’m not him he said I’m sorry dark too dark to move too close to see in his eyes a mild poison mild ordinary want some coffee dark so dark there is no laundry there is no counter blessed w/ crumbs what do they say I said in the spinning darksome stars our sheets turn colors it’s like humidity dark but dry it is not love but still it holds us tight as shadow that’s not what I said

Let The Patient Describe a Door by Jennifer Sperry Steinorth

[words-in-lines]

Dear Robber Robert Frost is hard for me to get excited about. Sacrilege you say? But I need him now. In order to write— don't know what— not sure how. He loved him. My father-in-law. Robert Frost. The world he wrote about. Educated on site. With a drill bit. And know how. I need him now. My father-in-law. To tell me how to tell my husband I need him now. To hold the world we've lost about. The loss we love about. I write it down. Nothing. Nothing Robert Frost about it. Nothing even. Odd love. Nothing Platonic. Something catatonic. Maple saplings aren't even. Three leaves tall. Leavings. Three leaves tall all about the base of the tree. Not even saplings yet. Not even saplings, yet leafing out. I pull one out of the lichen. I loved him. My father— in-law. I loved him fatly. I loved his portly wobble through the forest. Gone now. Why I kite about it. A string. A white line between hand and flying thing. A white line spooling out of a hand at the raised end of a body beached. A raised body. Reclining. A friend I know barely. A friend I know barely dressed on this beach has lost her father. I take a lover. Rob Frost. Sacrilege you say? He took his own life. My husband's father. My husband's wife is afraid of— what? The drill bit? A robber? The frost? What we winter over all summer. The hammer and ten penny nails. What is written. What it costs.

Jennifer Sperry Steinorth, “Dear Robber”

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Mother Hole // Jennifer Sperry Steinorth // from Her Read, a graphic poem

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Jennifer Sperry Steinorth (A Wake with Nine Shades, 2019)

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"Dry Seas," Jennifer Sperry Steinorth, Her Read

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Stick Wings // Jennifer Sperry Steinorth

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from Mining the Dead by Jennifer Sperry Steinorth

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“Key Chains,” from Her Read: A Graphic Poem by Jennifer Sperry Steinorth