“my belly is homeless/ flopping over the waist of my jeans like an omelette”
From the end of “Prophesy,” an Eileen Myles poem in the latest issue of Poetry Magazine:
my belly is homeless
flopping over the waist of my jeans like an omelette
there better be something about feeling fat
what there really is is a lack of emptiness
I’m aiming for that empty feeling
going to get some of that
and then I’ll be back
The rest of “Prophesy” is up at the Poetry Foundation. The December issue also contains a beautiful poem by Louise Gluck: I write about you all the time, I said aloud/ Every time I say “I,” it refers to you. Here’s its own end:
I watched the snow falling,
not so much obscuring things
as making them seem larger than they were.
Who would call in the middle of the night?
Trouble calls, despair calls.
Joy is sleeping like a baby.