Lovely does not suffice, nor does lyric. Eloquence is only a grasping in the space of ineffable air. There are few words or phrases that do justice to the soul singing its own revelations. That place is where Last Psalm at Sea Level lives, where it is as solid as gold burning itself into light.
—Afaa Michael Weaver, Contest Judge
“The vivid impermanence of the body is like kindling catching, a source of fire for Meg Day, a poet whose fearless heart is tethered to the world. This is a commanding book and a portent for the vitality of poetry.”
“If love comes fast, / let her be a bullet & not a barking dog” Tweet
“Lord, what was I / but made in your image: invisible” Tweet
Aubade for One Still Uncertain of Being Born
Lie still. Make their desperate hunt for your heart
beat them frenzied & let them second-guess
your muted tempo as counterfeit for their own.
Press your palm, still learning to unfurl,
to your den’s wet beams & steady yourself
against the doorjamb of your lair; it will be time
when it is time. If your mother is a horse – & I am,
I am – let her approach Troy with you still hidden
within. Let her carry you like a bouquet of splinters
in her belly of timber still hot from hatching
at the future for firewood like it was a family tree.
All your life they will surround you, will stalk & strain
to hear that ballad from your canary pipes, will tempt
your quiet cover, will kick the keg of your desire
until it is dented nameless; all your life they will try
to say you are built for something else. It begins now –
so hush, hush: be nothing, just this once.
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