To win you back, I wrote in vain
Of a place only the two of us know.
Where snow when it snowed wasn’t snow.
Where rain when it rained wasn’t rain.
That was the world.
That was the place
Where we lived—
This month we bring you work by Dylan Carpenter, a poet new to our pages. Dylan also has poetry in an upcoming print issue of The Common.
Let me, for a little longer, ponder that familiar place
I remember but would not, could not, and had refused to face
Wholly as a place unto itself, instead of an idea
That concealed a recherché emotion: My Wallonia.
How do I begin? The place that I endeavor to portray
Languishes, a somnolent geography, and slips away.
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