Natalia Holtzman

Natalia Holtzman

moments when

 
                         “...There must be 
Moments when we see right through
Although we say we can’t.”

                         Archibald MacLeish
 
                         There must be — or how could I take my own 
             aimlessness. I love everything:
the man in the bar who says he builds boats,
                                     plastic bags that catch in the branches,
                         rattling. Sometimes the city 
             shuts me out, or else I’m split,
                                     or the things that I am are 
                         stacked, I sing them out.
I should remind myself I’m lying about what I love. 
                                     Or I should say
                                                               how
             the things that I love could shatter a thimble,
                                     but not fill it.
             This is my second-favorite riddle.
                         Lately — since August — nothing will signify: 
                                                     not the East River,
                                     not my dream of the city,
             my bridge. Now the end of every sentence seems
                                                     unlikely. I even love
your likeness. I don’t know how the stanzas came off-­‐center.
                         Every so often I widen my wingspan. I’m trying 
                                                     to be modern. I love mangoes.
             This is my immaculate magic.
                         I took all these months to write it.

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NATALIA HOLTZMAN is an MFA candidate at the University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa. She earned a BA in Philosophy from Kalamazoo College in 2010. Her poems have previously appeared in Grist: The Journal for Writers.

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