Maggie Burton
As a mother of four young children, I do not often have time to write that is unfettered by domestic concerns such as cooking and cleaning. The gift of six weeks to do nothing but read and write poetry, as well as converse with other artists, had an immeasurable impact on my work. I feel that I developed a new poetic voice while at Civitella, because I had the space to learn how to listen to my innermost self
Sensing
after a painting by Vian Sora
I haven’t yet felt
the full weight of you
spread out on me like a tablecloth.
It’s still so new that I don’t yet know
the seat of your earlobe in my mouth.
I want your salt of skin on my tired
tongue, the taste I waited so many
Sunday dinners for. I want the umami
of your morning sweat, of pickled
tears on your clavicle. I want memories
that sustain me. Put us both in a museum
to stare at a painting so layered it takes us
from grief to rapture. Let me feed you
a blooming onion and hold a burning cigarette
between your lips. Cover me with the cloth
of you on your bed and whisper joy
in my ear. Then I will know you.
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