‘Of Your Dark’ by AM Ringwalt

If I say your name five times over
it will become something else – pink
glitter strewn in the lobby of a down-
town hotel, a lightbulb in a welcome
sign, the demolition of a forest,
a perfumery. If I name you as you are –
mouth full of lake water, veins a muddled
green from algae – you’ll disappear.
Honesty has a way of presenting itself
as a weapon in the hands of a dangerous
beast. Has a way of lighting the dark
cloud of uncertainty and driving you
into darkness. In the dark, you find
more dark. A drunken dream of union
free from realization. And so the dark
extends: comforting oblivion. I learn
to hold a feeling that isn’t meant to be
held. I stand – bottle of rose petals
and molasses, font of mashed apricot
and whiskey, lilies of the valley suspended
in a city sky. I stand in the hotel lobby,
its marble floor slick underfoot. When
you meet me here, your mouth is flooded
with lake; arms, cradles of pine and neon
light. You open your mouth to speak
without language – cold water on my face.
We won’t speak of my body shining
with light, near flame. Won’t speak of moon-
glow or the glass windows of towering
buildings reflecting off of themselves.
Only extinguish.

From issue #3: autumn/winter 2016

About the Author
AM Ringwalt is a writer and musician (Anne Malin) currently living in Boston, Massachusetts. Her work has appeared in Hobart, Rogue Agent, Vinyl, Talking River and DUM DUM Zine: Punks and Scholars. Like Cleopatra, Ringwalt’s debut poetry chapbook, was published by dancing girl press in 2014.