Somewhere between mourning and nurturing, Todd Herman's film Cabinet maps an iconography of absence and what remains in memory and imagination.
Enter and expire: beginning's fuller term
reverses. To untwist makes an outside,
that asphyxiated. Nothing weighs heavier
than light and air-this breaking in
entry-so a body starts, ends and remains
deeply interred : afloat, aloft.
Nothing runs heavier than paper, its
transparencies, so that an unending
wash is proven : sequence is proven :
progeny : A boat
pronged. A boat
handed. Fists don't stop reaching
of the waves. Okay, seeing through
couches, mathematics, petals,
the test tubes of sills,
through vacuums. Nothing crams thicker
than sound. So the breadman
closed shop. For good. I want :
Nothing stirs heavier than concentration : thus
a caroling of lathes and glazes.
As life, a backdrop to the pierce
of movements. As if air could
stop piling, if Florida's windows
were not snowballs. Okay, all breath
wheels and is forced. Clenches ever
until it flames. Uproots to evenings,
is the only reflection (with sound)
(in air's thicknesses) :
ganglions. The mirror of a stranding
or a flower : Portrait. It folds
outwards. If there were souls,
light confounds them, unhinged.
It buckles out, gloves loudly :
this opaqueness of transparency
aligning flow and ebb motorizes
all there is, microbes and corners
and rain. Over ripening.
—Stacy Doris
Stacy Doris, poet and translator, is the author of, Paramour, Kildare, Mop Factory Incident, Cheerleader's Guide to the World: Council Book, Conference, and Knot