Jodi Bosin
- Hole In The Head Review
- Apr 23, 2023
- 2 min read
skeumorphism
ian and i walked out behind
the house on that first day
1 or 2 of our supposed 55 acres
there is a creek and bridge
built i guess by fairies
made of earth, covered in grass
no one else went back there
we asked rask what an acre is
he said one chain by one furlong
= 66 by 660 feet
= the area of land
one man could plow
with one team of oxen
in one day
our words are remnant-filled
to keep things familiar, consistent
"history is just one fucking thing
after another" (alan bennett)
would i know the moment from within
why am i somehow always outside
always just right next to it
i wander away from the lake
where everyone else is swimming
the tall grass scratches my legs
i follow where it's worn down
others have been here before me
dialectic of enlightenment
free to choose what is always the same
in the house we found
a single pokemon card, cubone
"wears the skull of its dead mother"
(this seems needless, unbelievably sad?)
and a single issue of the scientific american
that i read when i can't fall asleep
did you know that space-time
is both emergent and fundamental
we have physicists right now
working on how we have never known anything
and we never will
quasimodo
i scratch my leg and there’s dirt under my nails, i am grimy
i read that grimes got surgery on her eyes to eliminate blue light
i read that the world will end by 2050 in one way or another
day weighed down with how to take care of myself
i paint a giant tomato from mackenzie’s farm share that’s
three times the size of my hand and green folding over
onto itself just like me stomach knotted all sweaty and heavy
clammy hands holding man’s search for meaning
thinking about purpose and how we’re at each other’s mercy
everything leads back to these hands, this green paint
alkali lake &/o cape may
scoop me up
on the shore
here where the sky
is pink sherbet
and the sun melts
magenta chrome
like the woman in X2
crying adamantium
my brain repeats
the word “fuchsia”
giant waves
pound the jetty
wet and messy
on the promenade
my mom points out
a bright star
someone passing by
holds up his phone
to tell us yes
it's mars
the gloaming
is the moment
when dark
consumes light
the future is
confusion
and a quiet sigh
telepathically
i say goodbye
and become
fire
shelter in place
around 3pm wherever you are if you're outside / the children walk by / remember school again / remember other lives / remember on the highway that a car is a case with a person inside / like glasses / there was a shooting outside / somebody died / passed away was how they said it / for once everyone all in the hall at the same time / like bees shaken from a hive / people who i'd never met / kind of nice / despite the circumstances / passed away should be a phrase only used for gentle death / but i get it, politeness / and anyways all words are wrong / if you ever find a right one well / you have my number
Jodi Bosin is a Philadelphia-based writer and social worker with poetry in Always Crashing, HAD, Wax Nine, and more as well as self-published zines. Find her on the front porch and on Instagram @jodi_bosin.