Poetry Card: “Not the stars, but the Black which we call sky”
Some performances were long. We raged past the show and burrowed furiously into the night. Other performances were lonely and quiet, intimate, with soft conversation and relaxed acceptance of letting the flow be. On the last night, our voices rose and fell in play with one another, harmonizing at their own accord to the perfect pitches, intervals, frequencies.
I remember feeling strange, to be in the town but not of the town. I came across Shaughnessy’s Our Andromeda while quietly stacking inventory for Princeton students in need of textbooks. She was a local poet, working with the Princeton MFA’s Emerging Writers series and teaching at Rutgers. Now, returning back to the east coast, to New Jersey, to Newark–it seemed like the perfect time to read Shaughnessy’s newest poetry book, So Much Synth, during the five hour flight from Los Angeles.
Originally Posted: May 14th, 2011Updated: August 4th, 2020This poem was featured on Quora as the answer to this question: “What’s the creepiest poem you’ve ever read?” I SAW YOU LAST NIGHT Who says sleepis subconscious? We don’tjust meetin our dreams, we collapseinto each other,exhausted from travelclimbing through oneblack honeinto another. –billimarieoctober 15th 2011 Purchase Poetry