Two Poems by Marie Lopez

Through Flight

For a moment we are suspended 
into air
we are born
and then down.

I see it there 
behind everything
ourselves on a single plane.

On the corner outside of your Wohngemeinschaft
where steps descend
the putting on and off of shoes
to meet the train
you leave
it stops. 

Is rawness another word for opening?

The space inside me to which you climb 
And never leave. 

Four hours, ours 
then I begin counting down.

(I do not often think of a life without you)

meanwhile the train slips through the night
and we hear nothing.
past the place we inhabited
on a different stratum
of course
unseeing.

Until evening
humidity flashes into the door
after a day of enveloping
every sticky.

And it’s just us.
the stove
the coffee
has done heating. steam
out of the window
It is us. Just.

Empty Theory

The present is often kept empty
anything can happen
we think we want something
only in exaggeration, what else is
but enthusiasm
merely central to the sequence
“I don’t know what Im thinking,” I said,
to a spike of buoyancy
here is the warm human tone which dissipates tension

Marie Lopez

Marie López (b. 1992) got into poetry because she knew it was a lucrative career move. She is currently pursuing her MFA in poetry at The New School in New York City, New York.

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