Poems / January 23, 2024

Merkwelt

Cynthia Cruz

The weather in this room is eel-black,
a gel-like ointment.

It is a cream-like substance
the exact texture of death.

It lives, like a dream, inside the body.

I have tried but I cannot
get it out.

I am showing you the history of life
through a series of unrelated gestures.

You can talk to the dead just like you talk to the living.

There is a blonde field and dark river
that seams along the edge of its forest.

A fracturing, television-like static.

Glitter and beads, animal, mineral.
Memory as a form of matter.

I have an accident every five years
and one year it won’t be accident.

Cynthia Cruz

More from The Nation

Love and Literature in Leslie Fiedler’s America

Love and Literature in Leslie Fiedler’s America Love and Literature in Leslie Fiedler’s America

When will the American novel grow up?

Books & the Arts / Vivian Gornick

Imani Thompson’s Grad-School Thriller

Imani Thompson’s Grad-School Thriller Imani Thompson’s Grad-School Thriller

In Honey, the novelist offers a different take on the campus satire.

Books & the Arts / Edna Bonhomme

What’s Behind the Dubai-ification of America’s Yemeni Cafés?

What’s Behind the Dubai-ification of America’s Yemeni Cafés? What’s Behind the Dubai-ification of America’s Yemeni Cafés?

Over the years, Yemeni cafés have become beloved establishments for students and coffee lovers alike. But recently they have undergone a conspicuous aesthetic makeover.

StudentNation / Mohamad Rimawi

Dolly Parton performs at the Roxy in West Hollywood in 1977.

Dolly Parton Was More Than an Icon Dolly Parton Was More Than an Icon

Later in life, she was heralded as a symbol of Americana—complete with her own amusement park. But what will last of her is her body of work.

Obituary / Nick Murray