"do y'all see that in the sky" by Haley King
Romana Iorga | Square Lament
This morning I opened my window to the rain.
Fearful, ready to bolt, she stepped
on coltish legs over the sill. She waited, still.
She knows me, this rain, yet sometimes she falls
into a trance elsewhere, on the plains
of southern Spain, for example, where
(everyone knows this) she often goes.
I asked her to fill my mouth with elliptical words,
each raindrop clear as an unshed tear.
I want—I’ve always wanted—to be a sphere.
A circle without dark corners to weep in,
or corners that lead like spokes to the core
of a word, where what is sharp doesn’t
wound, and what is wounded, grows.
I asked the rain to inhabit a body with edges;
a body asleep on thresholds, lurching
off ledges; a body poised on the brink.
I said, have you forsaken me, rain?
One slip from the eaves into the gutter
and I’m yesterday’s news? Can you not pour me
into a softer shape and, perhaps, warmer hues?
The rain remained silent, somewhat chagrined.
She plucked meaning from the strained
air between us, swallowed its dull blade.
Then she left as she came, clearing my angular
frame, rushing to somewhere truer, where
I’ve never been. Alone in my room, I still wait
for green words to ripen in their skin.
Fearful, ready to bolt, she stepped
on coltish legs over the sill. She waited, still.
She knows me, this rain, yet sometimes she falls
into a trance elsewhere, on the plains
of southern Spain, for example, where
(everyone knows this) she often goes.
I asked her to fill my mouth with elliptical words,
each raindrop clear as an unshed tear.
I want—I’ve always wanted—to be a sphere.
A circle without dark corners to weep in,
or corners that lead like spokes to the core
of a word, where what is sharp doesn’t
wound, and what is wounded, grows.
I asked the rain to inhabit a body with edges;
a body asleep on thresholds, lurching
off ledges; a body poised on the brink.
I said, have you forsaken me, rain?
One slip from the eaves into the gutter
and I’m yesterday’s news? Can you not pour me
into a softer shape and, perhaps, warmer hues?
The rain remained silent, somewhat chagrined.
She plucked meaning from the strained
air between us, swallowed its dull blade.
Then she left as she came, clearing my angular
frame, rushing to somewhere truer, where
I’ve never been. Alone in my room, I still wait
for green words to ripen in their skin.
Romana Iorga is the author of Temporary Skin (Glass Lyre Press, 2024) and a woman made entirely of air (Dancing Girl Press, 2024). Her poems have appeared in various journals, including New England Review, Lake Effect, The Nation, as well as on her poetry blog at clayandbranches.com.
Haley King, also known by their artist name GRVNGE LESTAT, is a Chicago based LGBTQ+ mixed media artist who primary uses illustrative methods to construct their body of work and combines that with digitally manipulating their own photography to achieve an effort to create their artistic world that houses themes of hauntingly provoking atmospheres.
Instagram @grvnge.lestat
Tik tok @grungelestat
Instagram @grvnge.lestat
Tik tok @grungelestat
