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About this poet

Jennifer Kronovet is the author of two poetry collections, including, her most recent, The Wug Test (Ecco Press, 2016). She is the editor of Circumference Books, a press for poetry in translation, and lives in Berlin, Germany.

With the Boy, Outside

Twigs collect 
by the side of the path.

Wild flowers space 
themselves. Pigeons 

respond instantly to being 
chased. The ground rises

to the tree. If I look 
through the boy—to loss, 

to a future, to else—
nothing is enough 

to hold the ground 
into one place. 

This is your foot,
I say. But people don’t 

talk like that. 
I watch people gather 

their faces into 
thoughts I can’t 

hear. This is the space
between us, I say 

while waving my hands 
to make the distance.

From The Wug Test (Ecco, 2016). Copyright © 2016 by Jennifer Kronovet. Used with the permission of the author.

From The Wug Test (Ecco, 2016). Copyright © 2016 by Jennifer Kronovet. Used with the permission of the author.

Jennifer Kronovet

Jennifer Kronovet

Jennifer Kronovet is the author of two poetry collections, including, her most recent, The Wug Test (Ecco Press, 2016).

by this poet

poem
He has thoughts he doesn’t
think about. Birds might wake him
but they don’t. My thoughts 
feel like speech—how one animal 
makes nature—until I speak to him.
We use words like a tree uses light: 
there is a process we don’t see but do.

A kid I don’t know hits another
I don’t know. I say stop stop
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Each issue of Blade magazine describes a man and how he came to be a person of knives. There are veins of metal in rock and in a family and in one person’s diorama. Some is mined for weaponry, some for language. Some knives are photographed like ladies in a nudie magazine,
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She had emigrated to New York when she wrote my hands, and I was in New York again again looking at my hands when I typed my hands. She wrote two little bits of my body on the next line. She had children at this point. I typed the words in English on the next line and didn’t