Cecilia Stuart Literature Poetry


For mobile devices, this poem is best read in landscape orientation mode.

Cecilia Stuart

I  put  something  down,  you pick it up.  I write the
letter  e  and  you  pick   it  up.  You  go  on  waiting,
waiting.  I   draw   a   barrier  around   myself.  Close
enough     for     you      to      graze      your       cheek.

There’s a barrier around the mess that we ascribe to
e. There are the coldest days we shared on the same
street.  With  my  giant  wings  I  drew  a picture of a
limousine—on the back I wrote your name in blue. I
flew  home  and maybe  you  forgot to ask me how it

I  set  an  item on  the   ground.  You   orchestrate  no
vacancy.  You ask  me for a brush. Why would I  have
a  brush.  Why would I have a pipe.   Why would  I be
elastic  or bruised  living  in  this   new  and  gorgeous
city. Things begin to topple from  my shelves. Instead
of catching them, I sit very still.                                        

Somewhere   I   wring   my   hands   and   miles   away
another  woman   does   the   same.   Another   woman
writes  another  e.   I arrange  my quiver,  I  propose  a
toast  to  outer  space.  What  a  fuss  ensues.   What  a
ruckus  it  creates.  I  draw  my  bowstring  and  recoil.
Why  would I have a  target.  Why would I pick a fight.


Cecilia Stuart’s work has been published in PRISM international, Bad Dog, The Antigonish Review, The Temz Review, and elsewhere. Her chapbook Mudroom (a collaborative work with photography by Adrian Kiva) was published by Anchorage Press in 2018. She lives in Halifax.