Poetry Sunday: “More Words for Snow,” by Annie Kim


More Words for Snow

Broken and unbroken,
toothless, houndless.

Unsplittable, unheard-of
sexy thing which
fireworks then disappears.

Word balloons to
dent the atmosphere like

………………..Don’t go home yet—touch me—
           I remember how you looked.

 Grief machine.
Killer of taxicab drivers
and kids in new buses,

well for skinny strays,
lost key heaven.
All the things I want
to say but forgot to, didn’t,

oceanic as the moon.
Othello in the sky tonight
lighting everything.


First published in Into the Cyclorama (Southern Indiana Review Press, 2016) and reprinted with permission of the press.


Annie Kim’s first poetry collection, Into the Cyclorama, won the 2015 Michael Waters Poetry Prize and can be ordered at the SIR website and at Amazon. Her poems have appeared in Kenyon Review, Ninth Letter, Crab Orchard Review, Mudlark, Asian American Literary Review, DMQ Review, and elsewhere. A graduate of Warren Wilson College’s MFA Program for Writers and the recipient of fellowships from the Virginia Center for Creative Arts and Hambidge Center, Kim works at the University of Virginia School of Law as the Assistant Dean for Public Service. Please visit her website to contact her and to read more work.



Poet’s Note

This poem is one of the last I wrote for Into the Cyclorama. Snow had fallen all throughout the manuscript, but I wasn’t done. I wanted more. I wanted to understand why this stuff coming down from the sky had such a hold on me, how it could be at once cruel and divine, corruptible and hope itself, both infinite and made to disappear. What surprised me the most was Othello’s appearance in the last stanza. His line, “Put out the light, and then put out the light,” is one of the saddest in Shakespeare. I liked placing him in the sky to do the opposite.

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