Shanan Kurtz | GRASP


have you forgotten
the terms of this pact,
the lines we once lifted
from songs that
remind me
of bells and stems,
a collection of waves,
a kill, a cure,
a whim
made permanent, arcane

did we ever lie close
in the black
of a room belonging to no-one,
switched like breakers
curved to conduct
the pitch
of a laugh,
a meteor shower, a shimmer,
a culvert,
a quarry
turned sleight of hand

so thin the grasp
of whispers held
for hatching plans to stay
within your reach,
an iceberg,
an archive,
steady, remote
done and

still I’ve missed
how the sky
bent back to our will
steeped in each other’s
guiding pulse
a doubt, quelled
a tonic
a longing
to be set against
the gape, the maw
of a truly
starless night


Author’s Bio

Shanan Kurtz is a visual artist, graphic designer, and semi-secret writer of poetry and non-fiction. She lives in Collingwood, Ontario and was recently a finalist for Vallum’s poetry prize. This is her first publication.