STILL

by

STILL

I wore an armor                                                  made of lingerie
I thought I wanted                                                        to be read
sonnets but really                                               I wanted to read
I wanted myself                                             my private thoughts
without those little arts                                              of popularity
my comb                                                                         of anger
its red-handled                                                                    virgin
broad stippled                                          into my femme regime
pedigree                                                                   and fronting
I hemmed                                                                my hemming
I lied                                                                when I said I did it
all night                                                       took vagaries of woe
across the day                                                      tough and soft
in silk buttoned                                                       button downs

with my leaked pen                                           I drew on myself
outlining                                                                          my eyes
my lips                                                                           w/ grace
less halting                                                                   and favor
the day again began                                       its double majesty
with salt                                                             rimming the sun
of yesterday                                                           while on high
field lilies                                                                a sour chorus
singing                                                                without tongues
singing                                                           in the stained room
its inscrutable liturgy                                          gestured toward
me my many faults                                                  ripped green
of goodwill                                                                   for clothes
that daily light                                                           new and old

 

 


Katherine Gibbel grew up in Brooklyn, New York. Her writing has been published in or is forthcoming from Bat City Review, The Bennington Review, Guesthouse, Tin House Online, and elsewhere. She has received fellowships from the Vermont Studio Center and the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, where she received her MFA in poetry.