View Archives by:


What You Are Witnessing

Jen Tynes

I am not the plaintive
until I make the plaintive
cry, an out

loud sound. If you are only
listening to me you cannot
tell if I am talking

about the person you remember
from this afternoon—green suit, full
of consideration: he stands
to the side when he draws
his little box-cars out
of nothing. You cannot tell

anyone apart when they wear
those big heads
of hair. In the courtroom
everyone is big-
boned and facile according
to how they was
raised. I would pull

you out of the forgiving
earth if I thought
you could tell me what goes
on down there, but you are like everyone,

unsure how to die. The defendent only thinks
of the other orange Honda, how the sunlight
glanced atop it before turning on the waterworks.

Jen Tynes

Read Bio

Author Discusses Poems