‘They Took Everything. They Took the Ladder.’ by Heather Christle

There is nothing in my house.
I sit on the floor by myself.
I am acquainted with myself
and the sunlight as it’s leaving.
I am no smaller. It’s only
a feeling. A cellar beneath
me. Stones beneath that. Can
anyone fathom the weather.
I make an X on my arm
with my nail. And then another.
This is one way to decimate time.
The sunlight collects me. That
part is clear. But to what
end. And for which nation.

From issue #7: autumn/winter 2018

About the Author
Heather Christle is the author of four poetry collections: Heliopause and What is Amazing, both published by Wesleyan University Press, and The Trees The Trees and The Difficult Farm, both published by Octopus Books. Her poems have appeared in The New Yorker, Poetry, The Believer and elsewhere. She is currently writing a non-fiction book about crying.