swifts  &  s l o w s · a quarterly of crisscrossings

Shape of a Poem
Kathleen Florence

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Making the Cut

Ribbon cutting, cutting ties, tying knots, nodding off,
talking the whole time my hair is getting cut, paper cuts,
cutting my skin, cutting out sugar, cutting coupons arriving
in the mail, cutting it close, closing my door, dimming
lights, lighting fires, cutting it down to the wire. Cutting
me off, cutting you out, cutting cards, cutting corners.
Cutting an umbilical cord, staying connected.

Clock That Stopped

A small wind-up clock sits gracefully
on a table by my front door.

Last year someone dropped it.
Glass smashed, clock stopped.

They offered to pay for repairs, but
I decided not to fix it. Still continue

to display it. Whether we are careless
or not, nothing lasts.

Shape of a Poem

The poem stretches itself out, long and thin. The way bubble gum pulled
from the mouth of a child becomes an arm long skipping rope, just to see
how far it can go. When it becomes unmanageable, the poem retreats.
Rolls itself up like a cinnamon bun. Covers itself with syrup and wafts
comfort to tempt consumption. Poem does what it can to make itself
smaller, sweeter, easier to handle. Rolls tighter into humble form. As
something one could reach for, that fits into the palm of a hand. Like a
piece of fruit or a tennis ball. Like gauze ready to unwind when a wound
opens.

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Kathleen Florence is a poet whose artistic practice spans screen, stage, and page. Her work has been featured in journals and anthologies, including L.A.’s Cultural Daily and Paris Lit Up, and has been supported by grants from the Ontario and Canada Arts Councils. An accomplished performer, she has shared her work at venues like Poets House in NYC and Beyond Baroque in L.A. Prayers With a Side of Cash, her debut poetry collection, will be released this fall by Moon Tide Press.