Crisis of Quiet Proportions
We wake to razors of nameless flowers
still blooming or else the sun. The middle
way sounds like blue or yellow and has
no time. You said of closeness nothing’s
settled. Farther off our friends worked,
fought, slept. I didn’t forget them though
the seasons kept changing hour by hour.
Sisyphus’s records skip. Makes him think
the world happens to him. We hope a little
wonder could be its own reason, might
summon both cordon and brink.
EG Cunningham is the author of a full-length collection of poetry, Ex Domestica, and a chapbook, Apologetics. Her work has appeared in Barrow Street, Colorado Review, Hobart, The Nation, The Poetry Review, Puerto del Sol, Quiddity, and other publications. She teaches at the University of California, Merced.