We know the incident is quite nearby when it
records as accident, an uncovering.
This move from smothering toward
othering, our method counts numbers mainly
in order to subtract. We take down from up and
street from sidewalk and impingement
to mean a word inscribed in dust and dirt
or blades and metal. Upon such finding
we shouldn’t be able to say, oh, speaking of distraction
I will bring you all the books, narrative books
to tell the future by, divine the waters with. The last
of this, the last of this, the last of this. The last
of these. We know then
the world doesn’t see us.
Genevieve Kaplan is the author of In the ice house (Red Hen Press), winner of A Room of Her Own Foundation’s poetry publication award, and three chapbooks: In an aviary (Grey Book Press), travelogue (Dancing Girl Press), and settings for these scenes (Convulsive Editions), a continual erasure of a single paragraph from Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse. She lives in southern California, where she edits the Toad Press International chapbook series, publishing contemporary translations of poetry and prose.