Nancy K. Pearson’s first collection of poetry, Two Minutes of Light, is the latest winner of the Perugia Press Intro Award. She has kindly permitted me to reprint a poem from her book below. Read more of her work and buy the book here.
Thought Thinking Itself
Suddenly, all the things I do not understand
discreetly twinkle below a surface.
A gristle of duckweed gleams through a thick chop of ice.
The green wafer of a fish drifts up through a pudding of eelgrass.
For 10 years, I lived mostly on psych wards & nothing burnished
than my overestimated connection to grief.
One year, my roommate consumed small amounts of arsenic
for a week.
Everyday, she stirred it through her warm brown soup.
Three blood transfusions later, she lit two portable charcoal grills
in the back seat of her Subaru & died.
We reassemble our lives & discover nothing.
Just under the skin, a tiny wick of green ignites a garlic clove.
In the early 1990’s, something went terribly wrong.
All around me, young women were diagnosed & diagnosed.
After a month on a psych ward, doctors discovered I had fifteen
I was twenty. I made them all up. This is a true story.
If I could live my twenties again, I would not sever to untangle—
flight is a single ligament balanced between two forces.
In the snow, the geese link chains & I follow their past.
There is nothing at the end to unravel.