mornings, I wake and worry about what lasts / Michelle Penn

someone pumped the rooms full

of cement

obliterating tassel lamps, wood floors, sinks

 

(the rings of Saturn are disappearing, the rings — )

 

kitchen, bedrooms, lounge, bath

everything solid

stopped

 

the stairwells

 

(ring-rain     water from the icy rings pelting down)

 

someone made this house

a wall

 

(the rings shrinking     ice leaking     gravity dragging

and even if the rings remain for a hundred million years

they’re still raining away)

 

concrete windows

concrete doors

even the chimney, suspended

like some amber-trapped insect

 

(Saturn losing if not its house its decor)

 

(the planet tugging rings to skin)

 

no one remembers who lived here

 

(days I wake and rain gushes in drops the size of cities)

 

Michelle Penn‘s new collection, Retablo for a door, is forthcoming from Shearsman Books in January 2026. Michelle is also the author of the book-length poem, Paper Crusade (Arachne Press, 2022), and the pamphlet, Self-portrait as a diviner, failing (Paper Swans Press, 2018).

 

 

 

Author photo by Eloïse Frey. Main photo by John Lavin.