Andrea Cohen

May 12, 2013 Cohen Andrea



Some people, after the day

has passed, scratch on X


inside that box, as if

the past were a treasure


map and the sweet spot

for digging just missed.


Others, more hurried, employ

a slash-and-yearn policy,


their single diagonal suggesting

a ladder that showed up


too late for actual scrambling.

At the edge of known


physics, theorists like to say

days and minutes don’t exist.


But calendars do: you can mass

produce them with snapshots


of aspirations in Lisbon and Madrid.

In a pinch, in winter, they make


fine logs for the fire; in summer,

fans for shadeless expanses.


The fans burn too. Days are

like that: elastic and highly flammable.

Andrea Cohen’s most recent poetry collection is Nightshade (Four Way Books, 2019). A new collection, Everything, will be published next year. Cohen directs the Writers House at Merrimack College and the Blacksmith House Poetry Series in Cambridge, MA.