I Am Not Ready But It Is Time
“Philosopher (from the series On Death II)”(1898-1910), Max Klinger. Courtesy of The Metropolitan Museum of Art.
The gall sleeps top and toe
with the somnambulist and leaves
no dissonance.
Every day is my only day.
Every waiting room rotates its available seats.
The contestants walk until the music stops,
and find no eliminated chair.
Everyone seems to already know this.
Everyone seems to have shut the mouth of why,
leaving the dumb inhuman matted in the hour out,
the eight hours in, the hour back, and the carousel that defines
the daily again.
I place them in conference rooms and industrial kitchens.
I take them apart immediately.
I atone for the macabre with
excessive yoga and that petroleum zing.
Din is the correct word.
Entry of the Gladiators splinters at full volume
from the world’s tiniest speaker.
points that arrow at things he shouldn’t,
just to laugh at the ordeal.
some busted footpath blown out
and betrayed by distance. The pavers
got bored and forgot what they were doing.
thought of me. The gods didn’t
give themselves eyelids. The gods
don’t know a thing
about the perils of dirt.
a drink after a long day.
There is always a reason to celebrate,
there are always long days.
becomes the evening meal,
becomes a long day repeating
under the damp prowess of flowering
dreams,
energy for the always tomorrow.
like frogs in a pot
as cheeks in the cold
eventually adjust
to the sharp air
Libby Hsieh
Publab Fellow 2025
Libby Hsieh is a writer, composer, and editor based in Los Angeles. They are like a thick fog with a nametag, a board of directors throwing punches over who gets to be in charge, a by-the-wind-sailor dreaming of sea legs. Currently, they serve as the Literary Editor-At-Large at Beyond Noise and have a forthcoming poetry collection with Verve Press.
libbyhsieh.com
@mal.vidrez