Using beauty to tear a hole in space & then you enter through it. Using your body to tear a hole in time. Using your body as a well, a place we might fall until we hit dark waters. Using darkness as a veil behind which words twist, supple. Twisting your body sideways to enter beauty through a tear. Tear as in rend, not weep. Weep as in your body giving itself over to exhaustion. The small thrashes entering sleep. Small thrushes in the vines, harbingering. As though the spring were a malingerer. As though night would enter the apartment through the open window. As though a window opened in beauty, and through it, a breeze.
MC Hyland‘s most recent chapbooks are Every Night in Magic City (H_NGM_N, forthcoming) and Residential As In (Blue Hour Press, 2009). Her poems have appeared in Cannibal, LIT, Colorado Review, H_NGM_N, Fourteen Hills, The Paris Review, and elsewhere. She lives in Minneapolis, where she works at the Minnesota Center for Book Arts and runs DoubleCross Press and the Pocket Lab reading series.