for Erik Lemke (1979-2012)
1. A hummingbird flies into a window that looks like the sky. Everything around here looks like the sky. The sky looks tiger striped. They call that kind of cloud something. I know somebody who knows
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Our subjects were nice. We kept
our distance. We brewed detachment
in bottles. “We kept our distance”
is an anecdote. Her name
is Anecdote. She was born in the study.
Cages, bottles. Books all around.
She was our favorite / forbid us
to see her. She was the muse
for the bottles marked “Distance”
from which we drank. Could not
get by without. We buried the results;
they were dead. It was painless
for us. Thanks
to detachment. Our hypothesis held up
a snapshot. Braces, barrettes.
Melissa Ginsburg grew up in Houston, Texas, and received her BA in English from the University of Houston and her MFA from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. She is the author of the poetry collection Dear Weather Ghost (Four Way Books, 2013). She teaches creative writing and literature at the University of Mississippi and lives in Oxford, Mississippi.