Raye Hendrix

The Island

—for Annelyse Gelman

 

the entire trip you pointed at things I kept missing:

            the volcano in the distance,

            snowbright & obvious

                        a leaf strung up by spider silk,

                        a corporeal ghost

            beyond the broken hunk of seawall

            the clear water, the stones

            graying a cold ocean floor

                                                                                                            ( & I tried not to imagine

                                                                                                            drowning )

you pointed at salt-bleached

barnacled shells

                        dark lengths of bull kelp

                        wearing sea foam like lace

            the surf-drenched corpse

            of a rat, strangled by trash

           

                                                                                                            ( ( I tried not to imagine

                                                                                                            drowning in water that cold ) )

you pointed at a child

dressed as a skeletal bride

collecting halves of Crassostrea,

barely alive & already

given to haunt

                                                on the ferry leaving the island

                                                you pointed again at the volcano

                                               

            the bonewhite spines

            of lower mountains

                                               

                        then the sunset splitting the slim

                        slip between dark water

                        and darkening sky

                       

                                    how it turned the distant snow

                                    -peaks to beacons of redgold fire

                                                                                                             ( ( ( & I tried not to imagine

                                                                                                            drowning, tried to do it

                                                                                                            your way, pay attention,

wonder without drifting

                                                                                                            within—

                                                                       

                                                                                                            Would the freezing surf

                                                                                                            feel like a field of diamonds?

                                                                                               

                                                                                                                        Would it be too cold

                                                                                                                        to feel anything at all?

_____

Statement of Homage 

Annelyse Gelman is a poet and friend who breaks open my brain in the best ways. We met during our MFA in Austin, Texas, and after graduating both moved to Oregon. After months of isolation in the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, we drove up to Seattle to spend Halloween weekend together, staying in Keetje Kuipers’s house on Bainbridge Island while she was a visiting professor at the University of Montana. Annelyse and I were both in difficult headspaces—she in grief and I in a prolonged, pandemic-induced OCD flare-up—but Annelyse has this incredible way of finding wonder in everything, even the ordinary and grotesque. This poem came out of experiencing Annelyse experiencing wonder and trying my hardest to pull out of myself and join her in it.

Annelyse Gelman

Annelyse Gelman is the author of the artist’s monograph POOL (NECK Press, 2020); the EP About Repulsion (Fonograf Editions, 2019); and the poetry collection Everyone I Love Is a Stranger to Someone (Write Bloody, 2014). Her second book of poems Vexations (University of Chicago Press, 2023) was selected by Aracelis Girmay and Solmaz Sharif to receive the 2022 James Laughlin Award. She also founded and directs Midst, a digital publishing platform focused on capturing, sharing, and exploring the drafting and editing processes of contemporary poets. For more, visit annelysegelman.com.

____

Raye Hendrix is a writer and photographer from Alabama. Her debut poetry collection, What Good Is Heaven, is forthcoming from Texas Review Press in their Southern Poetry Breakthrough Series (2024). Also the author of two chapbooks, Raye is the winner of the Keene Prize for Literature (2019) and the Patricia Aakhus Award (Southern Indiana Review, 2018). Their work appears in American Poetry Review, Poetry Northwest, 32 Poems, North American Review, Cimarron Review, Poet Lore, and others. Raye is a PhD candidate at the University of Oregon and an editor at Press Pause Press and DIS/CONNECT: A Disability Literature Column (Anomalous Press).