By Kelly Lenox
Without a thread to follow,
pattern is tough to decipher.
Fine silk, one color, irregular weave—
light ricochets dangerously.
Each time she moves, sense scatters.
She might carry a weapon. No one
emerges from hiding. She moves on.
Without answers, we conceive stories.
Threats. Catastrophes. Hold secret hope
in the one facet that could bring relief.
The shed that leaned precariously
is now a pile of boards.
Nails bent, popped free. Storm-drowned
cacophony. No rhythm. No pattern. No key.
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.