What We Make

VALERIE FOX

IN FEBRUARY
ROSALYN CLIETT, VALERIE FOX, ANNIE HAFTL, AND RAHKINAH LAUREL

 
Clouds changing like cotton candy
in a cotton candy machine, and this
a bird singing
and flowers begin to bloom
before the season, out of season.
We’re all out of season, sometimes.
Clouds flowing throughout the heavens. . .
The sound flowing out of a sense of completion
and also of being in the middle.
A place of completion half full and half empty
a place to move forward or go back.
Can we move forward?
It’s humid in February.

 

 


 

 

IN A DREAM THAT POINTS BACK AND MOVES FORWARD

 

 

I am miniature and my grandmother immense
She’s somewhere but I’m alone
There’s a tire swing in a pear tree
There are these lines between people
There is a path under the side-porch
This path is in the shape of an L
There is a window around the threshold level where nothing happens
The path runs on like this
I’m seeing it as from above
Lines show railroad tracks crosses stitched through the
A bridge is impassable I have to stay for two weeks
It’s pleasant enough, except for church
My grandmother underlined verses in her Bible
These words become a story that is read at her funeral
I wake up beside myself

VALERIE FOX

VALERIE FOX teaches writing and literature at Drexel University. She is especially interested in the exploration of intersections between artistic endeavors.