By Kelly Lenox
Today, under my door: an envelope as orange
as autumn moonrise through the telescope
we took to the mountain (those trees could singe
an eyelash held to the lens too long)—spilled a wire
when I opened it. Or no, a moustache
hair—could it be his?— colored like the fire
we built later, bottle passed underhand
among us. In art, it is Marcus who captured
that night best, ampersand
superimposed on the scene, a tender
note from a memory more photogenic
than ours. No, the paper is pomegranate.
Kelly Lenox (she, her, hers) is a writer and translator with work in Gargoyle, EcoTheo Review, SWWIM, Cirque, Hubbub, Split Rock Review and elsewhere in the U.S., U.K., Ireland and Slovenia. Her debut collection, The Brightest Rock (2017), received honorable mention in the 2018 Brockman-Campbell Book Award. Her second manuscript, No Other Ground, is looking for a good home. A Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee, Kelly holds an MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts and is editor-in-chief of the National Institutes of Health Environmental Factor.