Bethany Carlson

The animation of stoves is in inverse ratio to the clemency
of the weather

After Francis Ponge’s "Stoves"

In the winter, these stoves tick open their blue flames
oneby one. Easy

as ice, falling in points: a kind

of presupposition.

Suppose you study my icicled awnings & think,
O, sad trajectory of this human, human heart.

Suppose you wrap yourself in my afghan
& wish for common fireplaces.

Suppose we make soup with kale & potatoes,
feign shock at the crisp interior of roots,

their staggering bitterness.