L. A. Johnson is the author of the chapbook Little Climates (Bull City Press). She received her MFA from Columbia University and is currently pursuing her PhD in literature and creative writing from the University of Southern California, where she is a Provost’s Fellow. She’s received scholarships and fellowships from Vermont Studio Center and Sewanee Writers’ Conference. Her poems have recently
appeared or are forthcoming in The American Poetry Review, Alaska Quarterly Review, The Iowa Review, Narrative Magazine, The Southern Review, and other journals.
TRANSMUTATION
Glass splits like a map. Say yes;
say the night is filled with torrents of red,
trouble, warm light; say thrill or chill.
In the Adobe Valley, early rabbitbrush
lines the freeway, we watch it burst into sight.
Out there, in the cold, wild horses
circle around each other to keep heat rising.
Hoof and fetlock, manes lengthening.
Unmastered, they will never know
the fidelity of a pasture, the lush emporium
of safety and grass to be found there.
Headfirst into the dark, I don’t want
to want. Fire breaks in my face,
my lips turn to glass. What freedom
in that animal hunger for true north,
sugar and need. No maps, no getting-lost.
In this bedroom, a watery dress is removed
from the salt-depths of promise.
Lapse of a whisper, needles of light.
Bring cold into the room,
make a season out of breaking.
from Little Climates, Bull City Press (2017)
Glass splits like a map. Say yes;
say the night is filled with torrents of red,
trouble, warm light; say thrill or chill.
In the Adobe Valley, early rabbitbrush
lines the freeway, we watch it burst into sight.
Out there, in the cold, wild horses
circle around each other to keep heat rising.
Hoof and fetlock, manes lengthening.
Unmastered, they will never know
the fidelity of a pasture, the lush emporium
of safety and grass to be found there.
Headfirst into the dark, I don’t want
to want. Fire breaks in my face,
my lips turn to glass. What freedom
in that animal hunger for true north,
sugar and need. No maps, no getting-lost.
In this bedroom, a watery dress is removed
from the salt-depths of promise.
Lapse of a whisper, needles of light.
Bring cold into the room,
make a season out of breaking.
from Little Climates, Bull City Press (2017)
© 2018
L.A. Johnson
L.A. Johnson was a Featured Poet at the January 2018 Second Sunday Poetry Series
L.A. Johnson was a Featured Poet at the January 2018 Second Sunday Poetry Series