WINTER 2013 (Issue 77)

Kimberly Grey

We Are Mostly Alright

Love is not an actual helmet. It is
fashionable. We wear it to feel heavy
with gold. This is why the future concerns me.
We have never loved
the world only words
used to describe it. There are too many
machines to teach
us sadness. In the midwest a groom
uses the tick of his watch to say I do. The bride
kisses him with an industrial fan.
Everyone seems happy. The sky is
too busy with a lemon tree to notice.
We all understand romantic neglect. We think
it’s romantic. We furnish our losses
with an armchair and stove. We live
in them for years. If we get hungry we go
shooting for birds
which only creates more loss.
We handle it like pros. We are mere
beings with mere musings
and mere murderous hearts. If we didn’t
measure ourselves radiance by radiance
we’d mistake all these flashes for an atom bomb.
We’d bunker down in our basements
and wait for the president’s tears
or a stationary battery-operated horse
that says this sway to leave
or a single white breast:
the kind of thing to look at when you sit down to grieve.