As Courier New. Cambria Math. As calligraphy invented, the curlicued heart above the schoolgirl’s doodled I. You are necessary as petroglyphs, the wolf and the bear in the Pyrenees, necessary as Orion’s star-strung belt, as the gut-busting laughter belting out of the washed-up soprano soaked now with gin rickeys and rum, as necessary as the fringe catching the soft twilight of her frayed bangs. Necessary as the scissors and the knife that sit abandoned in the sarcophagus of a suburban garage until the day a bolt comes loose, a screw unhinges, a flap malfunctions. You are necessary as misplaced assemblages, warranty protections, sloppy annotations. The blank spaces, barren plains, wheatfields flapping weathered wings over North Dakota prairies. Invisible as the moon’s tight hold on the script of our bodies water, like a syncopation in Sitka Text Semi-Bold, the water mixed with oil now, the flecked strand of horsehair falling from the painter’s brush, floating to the canvas, creating the only shape it was meant to make.
Originally from Pennsylvania, Alicia Hoffman now lives, writes, and teaches in Rochester, NY. She holds an M.F.A. in poetry from the Rainier Writing Workshop and has authored three collections, most recently Animal (FutureCycle Press). Her poems have been published in a variety of journals, including Thrush, Radar Poetry, trampset, The Night Heron Barks, Tar River Poetry, The Penn Review, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, One Art, The Shore, and elsewhere. Find her at aliciamariehoffman.com.
Image: “Nena, You Forgot Some” by Daniel Nester
Pine Hills Review 