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.
