These poems are part of a project I am currently working on that probes my relationship with color by imagining myself as a docent in a museum dedicated to the same. The museum setting allows an adjacency of image that heightens the emotional/physical/linguistic connections I find in the spectrum.
Landscape-as-subject is misunderstood. Clotted weather
fondles the earth, wet in the dark morning. Any trust felt
at journey’s onset transmogrifies, now dolor. What have you
left? Behind or in front of the seeker, mist threads each direction
with regret. Still, you traverse this immense and opaque hall.
Nearly colliding with dais, you find upon it a sculpture of
occlusion: Glass Box with Nest. Inside, an unhatched egg inset
in tufted eiderdown has forgotten to become. Your own lost-
ness occurred prior to labyrinth. You scour memory for shred
of bird but you are cursed. Fog lifts like mothlight. A vast factory
of flown, of lifeless wing. Ten-thousand mouse-colored wrens’
wrested. Vaguely—to the bones of your hand—these recall twist.
Kirsten Kaschock, a 2019 Pew Fellow in the Arts is the author of five poetry books. Coffee House Press published her debut speculative novel—Sleight. Recent work can be read at Fence, Bennington Review, and Diode. She teaches at Drexel University.
One of the books I'm reading as I write these is Wassily Kandinsky's Concerning the Spiritual in Art. Another thing I am doing is listening to Joni Mitchell's Blue.