in place of an answer after Cy Twombly he asked me what i meant by god, as if some wisp of my soul could carry his abandon, solid enough to shoulder a self. if i stay still for long i can watch my colors lose themselves to the gaps between my footprints. i ask for a darker shade, some form of permanence, but am sent smeared fingers to stretch my frame without asking for directions. understanding is the greatest pretense we’ve found for erasure. our eyes are too weak to watch it disappear, arms too small to wrestle a blessing. i want to carry him an outline to hold, say this body is given for you, broken, open to embrace.
Whitney Rio-Ross is the author of the chapbook Birthmarks (Wipf & Stock) and poetry editor of Fare Forward. Her poetry has appeared in or is forthcoming in New South, America Magazine, So to Speak, Rock & Sling, The Windhover, 3Elements Review, and elsewhere. She lives in Nashville, TN, with her husband and practically perfect pup.