The Intolerable Nature of Yearning | Katie Kidder

I have been searching for you,
as the mornings and the evenings scroll by in a mad collage of letters that want
to be your name.

I have looked in the phonebook 
and in Japanese. I found you thinly veiled in Freud’s Illusion
just to lose you down a page of long division.
I watched my goldfish mouth you out a thousand times in spheres
that ascended slowly to the surface and then popped.
I have seen your name almost complete itself
in my husband’s dirty socks.
I nearly licked you off
a whiskey label— If I could swallow what you are
I would.

My friend, my friend who feels prettier
in her skull’s long grin, 
accused your terms of catching me like a fish
bone in the throat. 

She laughed at me, smoked and puffed,
“A man who writes knows too much.”

“A man who writes knows too much” — from “The Black Art” by Anne Sexton.
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commentary | poetry | fiction | chicago | autumn 2007  
Household Poisons | Thomas King
It Begins when the Leaves Turn | Grace Wells
The Intolerable Nature of Yearning | Katie Kidder
Figure 2 | Lindsay Bell
Egressive | Amy Groshek
Kampala 2012 | Damian Dressick
Today, October the Ninth | Allison Shoemaker
This House | Edward Mc Whinney

Contradiction | from the editor


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