Poetry by Kimberly Grey

“Filmic” by Carley Walton / @carleymwalton

 

 

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.