issue 8
// poetry
Marie Curie(s)
by Kara Dorris
A cloud is a closed curve that meets
& ends at the same place.
That has never been us. We peel
away from ourselves like shaving
skin from mozzarella sticks. Ride
Siberian trains & dive into Ankara Seas.
Like Marie Curie, we are willing to die
for our discoveries. Every
girl a scientist uncovering
the same thing & it isn’t penicillin.
What else to expect when we sing
about daddies buying us diamond
rings & looking glasses. By which
I mean just gaze into sky,
how we’ve named constellations
Perseus & Pegasus but not Medusa
who birthed both,
one way or another.
about the author // Kara Dorris
| Kara Dorris is the author of three poetry collections. Her poetry has appeared in Prairie Schooner, Redivider, and DIAGRAM, as well as the anthology Beauty is a Verb. Recently, she edited the anthology Writing the Self-Elegy: the Past is Not Disappearing Ink (SIU Press). For more information, please visit karadorris.com. |
Instagram: @a_poet_named_kara_dorris
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