A Poem from "It was the season, then." [by Amy Allara]

As this week is the AWP conference in Denver I was prompted to share a poem by Sarah Suzor, who is in attendance and gave a reading last night at Plus Gallery. Sarah is the author of It was the season, then. (EtherDome Press) and the forthcoming Isle of Dogs (Toadlily Press.) She lives in Los Angeles where she is an editor for Highway 101 Press, and a visiting lecturer at The Left Bank Writers Retreat. The poem below is from her newly released chapbook It was the season, then.  The 19th century science of phrenology serves as a backdrop and gives rise to the book; and it is a collection of incisive, well-crafted verse worth reading.
 

Conscientiousness

Ahead of the ear
and above the jawbone—
this faculty was located
but its stipulations were troublesome to relay.

And she was no help,
wondering only about the consequences—
the light air brushing the back of her neck.

It had to do with
retaining errors and
correcting them consciously.

The conclusion was neither
positive nor negative.
To him that was confusing.

She knew what it meant
but never cared either way.

—Sarah Suzor