Gretchen Marquette

I've kept it quiet,
where to find the brightest,
most exacting love.
Much of it burns off.

What remains, remains...

We sat under hot light,
in a round room plush with the breath
of strangers. I said, We have
seventy pages left to love one another.
Across his chest burst a sash
of gold chrysanthemum.

One thing I've learned -
you have to let love be practice
for what might happen

elsewhere.

From opening poem "Elsewhere" in this collection that tells a story of loss and absence, and of a wide universe scary in its expansiveness yet offering comforts in small specifics, like in the round yellow shape of butter melted in hot water on the stove. I really enjoyed it.

Weeks after the last time, she bled.
It was startling. There would never be anyone
made from the way he needed her.
- "Lost"… (plus d'informations)