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An Untitled Poem 

get down from the suspended ladder
take the theory out for a spin don’t abandon it
boot stuck in a gutter, dislodge it soon, the sounding of a
guttural scream just shy of a skip, time is lapsing
a thought gets in the moment what is happening
pools itself between the body and these marvelous objects
the mailbox, for example, is so familiar by now
someone’s address isn’t theirs anymore
no ownership of place in number, only in memory
by this point, you’re ankle-deep in rumination
don’t be so surprised you haven’t even
left the attic made a move, you’re sitting
try standing up, accordion the staircase back into memory

Speaking of...

  • An untitled poem by Amy Pedulla.


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