I wrote this first part of “months’day” on June 22, and I then kept writing the poem every second or third day til December. I'm not sure yet if the poem will actually have this title or what language it is talking about, but “months’day” is I think a day that continues and won't end.
☙
Excerpt from “months’day”
If I am always listening for a language if I
never heard that word but I knew it when I
heard the sound it made I am listening for
your language I havent heard you speak yet,
and I dreamed I was the one who was his
mother and father, . and I dreamed about schools.
fathers, schools, it had the narrow
roundness of a fake thing little mirror or a
life, calling like it can be limitless when I
get there I never know if that’s you talking, I
always thought it was someone else , talking over
the elaborate singing. like when you wrote
me an email and claimed I was imitating as I
always did
a tree in pink shade is made.
the things I thought I hated I loved, that life
is made of, in going, and to others
tararaboombiay it will not rain today,
he sings to you,
I recall flying over the ocean
making his own age, strange to him as it is
to most or all, I don’t know yet
but if know and truth seeking continue
then that may well be the apple of
the day in cloud riven or, not forgiven for
arriving late
to the first knowledge we have not come to
Lena Tsykynovska lives in Chicago, and is the author of The Last Days Of My Boyhood and The Golden World.