One Poem by Alex Dimitrov

Our poetry editor, Wendy Xu, has selected one poem by Alex Dimitrov for her monthly series that brings original poetry to the screens of Hyperallergic readers.

Francesca Woodman, “Untitled” (Rome, Italy) (image courtesy George and Betty Woodman)




…or ask the mistakes to give the day texture.
December to seem like July. The sea to make room
and the room to be right here. Language to do more than fill time.

If you forget who you are there’s a desk in the afterlife
meant to retrieve you. Yet by some kind of error
(someone told me today), it’s been sent and is heavy,
it’s been lost on the earth.
I’m no more at home if I’m walking or swimming,
catching an airplane or riding trains backwards
like people of previous years.

This is what he looked like, you said to them,
handing over a photo.
This is how a car drives out of view.
Nothing—not even the nothing—gets written by us.



*   *   *

Alex Dimitrov is the author of Together and by Ourselves, his second book of poems out now from Copper Canyon Press. He lives in New York City.


Readers are encouraged to submit 3–5 poems as a PDF to Wendy Xu for consideration at [email protected].

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