They Will Sew the Blue Sail

ANTIGONE LOOP | Gale Marie Thompson

From here a skein, a solution:

harbinger of an opening

A little note from beyond, ie.,

the lost “family joke,” the long bridge

between moments of being

and their reverb

Should I not be supremely content

that a fire is built instead of made

made instead of male,

That in the pockets of this overcoat

I am female, a form of being bold but not bold

red in eyelet, repeating I am 27, I am 27

to the tea olive’s hidden smell

a sense of stalemate overhead

An obligation to make angles and lose

this animal body, to sing about

and value preparedness

like something we weave and erect a fort under

To deserve this realm of history

in no language

Never mind the shriek on the radio:

A hemorrhage subsiding

a long file of rain