Author Archives: Krysia Jopek

burial with rain

[13 dancers] .this morning, the song sparrow’s missing head.. .a delicacy for the coyote’s mouth.. .faded teal feathers hidden by dusty brown crinoline—taken, too.. .you said, let’s drive diagonally through crisscrossed streets.. .toward colors painting the sky-fall twilight— a necessary … Continue reading

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SEMICOLONS

The garden, a micro-wasteland: cracked ceramic and glass; peat moss gone amok with ice, tangle, and quandary. Mourning doves thread dirges into blackbird noise; the blue jay cry, a semicolon. Let’s pretend to be yellow, he said—the yellow of daffodils; … Continue reading

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confessions of a con-ARTist

It’s true. I’m a con-Artist. I can’t pinpoint on the calendar the day–or on the wind-up clock, the hour this new identity coalesced, grew into its genetic paws. Strangely, I’m not one iota ashamed. I daresay I might be off-the-chart … Continue reading

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DIRGE VI, what was lost [13 dancers]

Unhinged from the ceiling, the gray moth was wind-scatter by Tuesday—then nothing left. Not even a frame for a sentence-shed. Last winter’s bicycle spokes catch a hand. Everyone in a hurry to take the remote—until then. Orphic chords scrambled us … Continue reading

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the spine is now a backwards S:

sinuous, serpentine, spongy, soggy, drowning under water, not serendipitous, not a sinecure with a quick fix, not erect at my unstrung cello, not perpendicular at the untuned piano’s yellowing keys the cat walks across at night emboldened with the power … Continue reading

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DIRGE II, the afterlife smells like ghosts; softened spectacle [7 dancers]

Everyone slows down and locks the rearview mirror when the ambulance arrives. Demise crosshatches the body’s sleeves. How funny I look without skin. Lacking the memory of other cells, the cell is lonely. Inconsolable, the violas slip the page. A … Continue reading

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DIRGE: a ballet for 13 dancers [prelude with cellos]

1 dancer [hazel] I slept in the Book of the Dead and woke with parchment scrolls blooming tired magnolias from my unhinged mouth. Lugubrious cellos attempted to climb me back to the mud-encrusted, brick floor–but I panicked. When my thinking … Continue reading

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CONFESSIONS

I wanted to go there but I can’t remember—to be with someone lost in the field of wildflowers—that disappeared when I touched a memory that confused the horizon. The address of the doctor who promised not to cure me but … Continue reading

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THE DARK PROLIFERATES EVERYTHING

Let’s not get into this now—this driverless car that could easily crash that neither of us can afford, this city taxi cab (that will drive too fast near the bicycle lane)—or step into this afternoon of apple-green light, prescient of … Continue reading

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WHERE WERE WE?

We were on page 72—cringing as the main character stepped onto the plane, knowing what would happen because of the foreshadowing on page 47. Her fiance would be destroyed in the next chapter, which might require tissues or a walk … Continue reading

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