Daniel Khalastchi

First it was the Realtor knocking
quick against our door asking when
we planned on leaving. Why would

            we be leaving?
we asked, and then
            she pointed to the stain. Next
            it was the neighbor drilling through

            the tasteless sheetrock saying he
            was eager to expand now that we
            were finally vacating. Why would we

be vacating?
we asked, and then he pointed
to the Realtor, who pointed to
the stain. Then it was the census

            taker standing by our open window
            calmly stating that given recent errors
            in statistical significance she required

            names and ages of those living in the
            dwelling since we were no longer
            tenants. Why aren’t we the

tenants?
we asked, and she pointed
to the neighbor, who pointed
to the Realtor, who pointed to

            the stain. After that it was the weather-
            man, the barre instructor, the pundit
            held in heels; it was the gallery

            curator, the food deliverer, the barista
            spelling names; it was the metro
            guard, the hardware hand, the

child hauling kitty litter for the
Senator; it was the Senator, the
Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the

            Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the
            Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the
            Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the

            Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the
            Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the
            Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the

Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the
Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the
Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the

            Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the
            Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the
            Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the

            Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the
            Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the
            Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the

Senator, the Senator, the Senator, and the
retired ophthalmologist making sure we
saw the stain. It was crowded in our

            apartment, in the hallway, in
            the stairs. Taking out the paperwork, the
            Realtor said that even with the stain

            nothing saved us from the closing
            costs. Why are we what’s closing? we asked. Everyone
            stepped closer to see what we would do.

from the book THE STORY OF YOUR OBSTINATE SURVIVAL / University of Wisconsin Press
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Review of Tomasz Różycki’s To the Letter

"The poem’s associative structure reflects a mind half-submerged in its contents; its opening quietly embodies the psychological perceptiveness and sensitivity within which such meditations may take place: 'So many caverns in the body, chambers / abandoned once and for all, darkened corners.' Suppressing such shadowy associations of death can indulge fantasies of both authority and rebellion."

via ASYMPTOTE
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Cover of Well Then There Now
What Sparks Poetry:
Juliana Spahr on "Gentle Now, Don't Add to Heartache"


"Humans do not show up until the eighth section of sixteen. The chant is enumerative, but not merely enumerative. In the list of flora and fauna that the Kumulipo includes, humans come after birds, bats, and fish and before octopus, coral, and eel. I know of almost no examples of a poem with such an ecosystem, such a hope, such a possibility, such a reminder. And if I had to start to try to figure out what poetry is in this moment of ecological crisis, I might start there."
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