The
Slip
by Michael Montlack
Is it possible
to have been
tattooed
by someone’s
soul?
Only with eyes closed
can I trace
outlines,
a slight raise
on my unmarked skin
(even in
creases: inner elbows,
between fingers
and toes).
The designs
always familiar
but too abstract
to identify.
I mean, can one
be widowed
by the living?
Carting the
blank stone
from days into
dreams
toward an open
grave
in my front and
back yards,
basement,
bathtub.
Ever eluded by
the body,
not the scent.
And if there is
someone else one day,
will he sense
this presence?
The fine slip
beneath
my rumpled
clothes.
The railing I
reach for
even on shallow
stairs.
Will you
be the mosquito
netting
draping my
honeymoon bed,
swaying almost
imperceptibly in the dark
but allowing in
breezes
that comb the
hairs on my arms,
legs, chest?
This Valentine's Day poetry selection, "The Slip" by Michael Montlack, is
the the title poem of "The Slip," published by Poets Wear Prada in 2009.
With pitch-perfect
pacing and an intimate colloquial voice, THE SLIP reads as engagingly
novelistic even as these memoiristic vignettes are untamed by wit and
scathing humor. Ouch. The poems are at once revealing yet winningly
imaginative as they reignite myth—there’s even a bisexual Orpheus here
who helps Montlack to rewrite the past while instructing, bruising, and
exposing suburbia’s lingering melancholy.
—Peter Covino, author of Cut Off the Ears of Winter, winner of PEN/America Osterweil Prize
The
many moods of THE SLIP, from fabulous to funny to frenetic, announce
the arrival of a promising new voice that can express, with consummate
sensitivity and verve, the sorrows and celebrations of our complicated
queerness. When Michael Montlack writes, he can make us sing or break
our hearts. Each poem is a veritable “kiss of the artist”—passionate and
memorable.
—Rigoberto González, author of Other Fugitives and Other Strangers
Michael
Montlack's THE SLIP situates us in the middle of a life, threading
together joys and sorrows. Some of the comic moments will truly make you
laugh out loud. And at times, you'll get horribly wistful. Such is the
richness of this collection.
—D. A. Powell, author of Chronic
Again, just a magnificent poem! I lover the line "Carting the blank stone from days into dreams." How many senses are engaged by this provocative line!
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