Renia White: Pick of the Week [ed. Terence Winch]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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sometimes I flash forward and cry

 

I am afraid to have this thought.

a 1.5 bedroom apartment in a city I can bear,

metallic hangers and art featuring dark girls,
their faces obscured by large flowers
and overgrown fruit

a bed so heavy it startles the sinking hips

a man with my feet in his hands
who half-coos, “I bet you were hard
to find before I found you”

all the things glimmering,

the man’s eyes growling,

each fruit unripe

everything wishing
to be unfound

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Renia White is a poet and instructor originally from Maryland. Her first book, Casual Conversation, was named a BOA Editions, Ltd. Blessing the Boats Selection. She earned her BA from Howard University and her MFA from Cornell. She teaches writing in NYC, where she lives. Her work has appeared in publications such as The Recluse, Southern Indiana Review, Slice, and elsewhere. 

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                                              Njideka Akunyili Crosby, Drown, 2012, acrylic, colored pencil, and solvent transfer on paper. 

Comments

[Clarinda]

Yes, perfect in its own ambiguity👏

[Evie Shockley]

Whew!! A poem that self-unravels . . .

[Indran J Amirthanayagam]

To be unfound, to step back, to close the door, to walk away.

Thank you for this lovely and melancholic observation.

Take Care

Indran

Indran Amirthanayagam,
Co-publisher Beltway Editions (www.beltwayeditions.com)

[Bill Nevins]

Magnificent poem of the mystery of being unfound! Thanks so much Terence, and Brava, Renia!
This is a poem I sincerely wish I had found in my own writing, and perhaps I shall!

[Dr. Earle Hitchner]

The reversals, literal and imagined, are intimidating and intoxicating in this thoroughly absorbing, challenging poem. It's far more than a cri de coeur. It's a yearning for more and for less simultaneously. How do you decouple the urgings of the past from those of the present and future? "Everything wishing to be unfound": don't we all lead interior, stealth lives of some sort or other? "Each fruit unripe": how long do we wait for ripeness? And when are we past the point of rescue? Perhaps asking that question is its own answer. Brava, Renia White, for this extraordinary poem.

[Terence Winch]

Mr. Nevins: Thanks for the comment.

[Don Berger]

A remarkable poem that launches vividly from its uncanny original first line. Everything contained here is striking, delivered by a wise speaker who never strains to reveal her world, a thought full of solid material "wishing/to be unfound." The poem treats us to forceful, compact quantum lyricism.

[Eileen]

I love this wonderful poem.

[Diane Ward]

Thank you for this poem, Renia. A fierce caution cradles hope in her loving arms. I also like the accompanying art.
Thank you for posting, Terence.

[Terence Winch]

Diane:  Thanks for the comment on the poem and the art.

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[lally]

I too, eileen, love this wonderful poem

[Peter Kearney]

At the very center of this marvelously challenging poem, the poet herself is "found" by a distressing man. With her feet in his hands, she is not free to go. If she is to escape, then what she has created, all that is a part of her, must go with her; it must all share her wish to be unfound -- a thought ending in a nothingness that frightens her.