by Allison Renner
A question
Why don’t we ever say sky me
the way we say tree me
when I, a hapless creature, am being pursued;
the way we say water me
when all I emit is rasps, I am so parched;
the way we say ground me
when electrical surges put me at risk;
or the way we say air me
when, after too many months enclosed, I venture out of doors?
Language finds itself at a loss when a new situation
wants words to scaffold it.
But how can I tell you what I mean by sky me
when it hasn’t happened yet, and may never?
Annie Stenzel (she/her) was born in Illinois, but did not stay put. Her full-length collection is The First Home Air After Absence (Big Table Publishing, 2017). Her poems appear or are forthcoming in print and online journals in the U.S. and the U.K., from Ambit to Thimble, with stops at Atlanta Review, Chestnut Review, FERAL, Gargoyle, Lily Poetry Review, Nixes Mate, On the Seawall, SWWIM, and The Lake, among others. Her second collection was shortlisted for the Washington Prize at The Word Works. A poetry editor for the online journals Right Hand Pointing and West Trestle Review, she lives on unceded Ohlone land within walking distance of the San Francisco Bay, and pays a voluntary monthly land tax to help restore Indigenous life.
Allison Renner is an editor for Flash Fiction Magazine and the Publicity & Reviews Manager for Split/Lip Press. Her fiction and photography has appeared in or is forthcoming from The Daily Drunk, Six Sentences, Rejection Letters, Versification, Thimble Literary Magazine, and vulnerary magazine. She can be found online at allisonrennerwrites.com and on Twitter @AllisonRWrites.