Vitreous


The fact of transparency doesn’t mean

You know what is happening. Consider

The window, which wasn’t built to know

That the closet doors are floating above

The yard or that the light they float on is

Not of this world. There are shadows

Of ominous wires slashing their way

Into the room as if to save yon damsel.

Things that obscure the glass: the city

Muck, the blinded birds, the sadness

And the double gloss of snow. It cannot

Hear the bells, or know of love, or nod

With its flat vast self to that man on

The roof, who is hard at work against

The glassy sun, fixing the invisible.



YVETTE SIEGERT is a CantoMundo poetry fellow currently reading for a DPhil in Medieval and Modern Languages at Merton College, Oxford. Her work has appeared in the ORB, the Boston Review, Stonecutter, The New Yorker, Chelsea, Aufgabe, The White Review, and other places, and has received scholarships and fellowships from the Clarendon Fund, the Community of Writers at Squaw Valley, and the National Endowment for the Arts. She won the Van Rensselaer Poetry Prize and was runner-up in the 2019 Jon Stallworthy Prize, and her translation of Alejandra Pizarnik's late poetry, Extracting the Stone of Madness, received the 2017 Best Translated Book Award for Poetry.  Art by Anna Covell

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