WHILE MY BROTHER SPENDS YEARS DRINKING HIMSELF TO DEATH
The future splits
into atoms in a nuclear facility
we don’t mention
anymore. The hares arrive
in winter as windows.
They come, but they don’t
leave, becoming
landscape as we
sleep. What truth is worth
bearing? People appear as angels
in the distance of the mind.
Perhaps, in the dark,
we leave ourselves in order
to begin. What dark
do we need in order to continue?
The roof shakes
with any weather.
The dead pretend to stay
dead. A body wrests the dark
from the bottom of a lake
so the cold need not be
alone, or unwanted.
ABOUT THE POET
Chelsea Dingman’s first book, Thaw, was chosen by Allison Joseph to win the National Poetry Series (University of Georgia Press, 2017). Her second book, Through a Small Ghost, won the Georgia Poetry Prize and was published in February 2020. Her recent work can be found in The Southern Review, The
New England Review, and The Kenyon Review, among others.
ABOUT SUGAR HOUSE REVIEW
We’ve loved reading the work that we’ve published (clearly), so now we want an opportunity to better hear our contributors. We will feature an audio recording of a poem from one of our seven issues, read by the poet and updated every couple of weeks. This an open invitation to all contributors from any of our issues, we were delighted to print your work, now we’re eager to hear it.
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