Gossamer
What actually cuts
Ink flows from its decanter –
siphoned by the edge of pressed pine,
no longer living,
yet in its new form,
revived –
across this pulp of the forest,
like a gossamer breeze
whispering softly
in shades of
cerise.
Unassuming in stature,
but capable of force,
by the ache of a wound,
a page's pulse
is forged.
hi jennifer i am so glad i got around to reading this piece. the staircase formatting is doing real work here 🫧 like the words are literally descending the page the way ink travels down paper. form mirroring content. obsessed.
and "a page's pulse / is forged" ?? that closing hit landed. the whole piece treats writing like resurrection and i am here for it 🪼
the cascading indents give it this breathing quality too. like each line earns the next one's arrival. gorgeous pacing throughout 📯
Jennifer! I'm so glad you found my note and decided to share. This is lovely, lovely work—one of those rare pieces that leads to an instant subscribe for me.
Please correct me if I'm wrong, but I read this as almost a "material genealogy" metapoem. First stanza is the "origin story" of ink, second the transformation of the forest, and third the paradox in the power of the word. And ultimately, what I think you're revealing is that writing is the forest speaking after death, which is a really freaking cool and original concept.
You have a clear mastery of visual form and lineation. Staggered indentation is absolutely gorgeous to look at, and the cascading indentation mimics a lot of the images you present or imply: ink drips on a page, sap descending through wood, a brush stroke. You've visually enacted flow to accompany a piece that is talking about flow. That staggered structure also functioned to slow my reading so that each indent creates this nice, naturally soft, spatial emphasis.
You write with beautiful musicality. Second stanza was especially singing to me with all the s, z, and soft c sibilance.
Metaphors are just as rich. Ink is liquid life. Paper is transformed forest. Pulp is such an intelligent word to use here and I took it almost as a triple entendre. Pulp is literally what paper is made from. In sensory terms, evocative of flesh, fruit, softness. But also a result of crushing/destroying. The violent component of the process you describe.
Ugh, there is so much more I want to tell you that I love about this piece, but I am tiring. Thank you so much for sharing, and I am overjoyed to be connected.