Ballerinas by Noelle KocotA moth lamenting its wings, how
To worship? We are so famished, Such a fantastic job on the ceilings And the doors. Curtains, sky, the Domesticated fog creeps over the East. But here, we reach a different Conclusion. Who is to invent the Value of our soft caresses, who is to Say who is missing? The waves Misunderstood their dry sufferings. The moated birds misheard their Wingspans. A bitten moon hangs Above winter. The little teeth of Ballerinas keep us warm, full of life. |
Noelle Kocot is the author of six books of poetry, most recently, Soul in Space (Wave Books, 2013). She has also translated some of the poetry of Tristan Corbiere from the French, and they appear in a book called Poet by Default (Wave Books, 2011). She has received numerous awards for her work, including those from The Lannan Literary Foundation, The Academy of American Poets, The American Poetry Review, The National Endowment for the Arts, and the Fund for Poetry. Kocot’s work has been widely anthologized, including in Best American Poetry 2001, 2012 and 2013 and in The Norton Anthology of Postmodern American Poetry. She was born and raised in Brooklyn, and she now lives in New Jersey. |
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