Filmic
Memory found me hot and lit. You were like a train track electrified and I riding you through frame frame frame I achieve pain as a film strip: square city home plot bed covers and under us two and wishing always for our expression to have expression. The way you once dappled the kitchen table with tears—then we went to the seaport at the island’s edge and saw a museum full of bodies (we were embarrassed by the exposedness) their nerves ending at each entrance. Together we spectated the spectacle, never left our own circulatory systems in a room for others to see. One reason I loved you was that we were unintelligible like flowers underwater frame frame frame now riding the last day of the last month we were three-dimensional, lovers hung from each other like two trees in inosculation. The problem of memory is that an image is never certain. Memory is not a text but when you read to me from Boethius (“Who would give a law to lovers?”) I arched my back like a cat, all heat and language, for some written rule. I never wanted a home, just whatever bright point inhabited you. I have no place, no place that you are not, and together we have no place. Hot cakes, mistakes ache ache electricity frames each frame, live-wired moments too abstract to touch, comprehend. No one ever told me how endlessly you would end.
Patterning
morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after morning after mourning after
Kimberly Grey is the author of three books, A Mother Is an Intellectual Thing: Hybrid Essays (Persea Books, forthcoming in 2023), Systems of the Future of Feeling (Persea Books, 2020), and The Opposite of Light (Persea Books, 2016), winner of the 2015 Lexi Rudnitsky First Book Prize. She has been awarded a Wallace Stegner Fellowship and teaching lectureship from Stanford University, a Civitella Ranieri Fellowship, and a Taft Research Fellowship from the University of Cincinnati, where she earned a PhD in Comparative Literature and Creative Writing. She is a Visiting Assistant Professor of English at Webster University and lives in St. Louis.