STUNNED AWAKE by Karen Kevorkian

by Karen Kevorkian / Friday, 15 November 2024 / Published in Issue 31

Not having the book not remembering what it said

stunned awake into sheets’ tissuewrapped old dress dank from years’ saving

dusty gritty cement floor little windowless room who knew

what children could get up to

crack of sunlight outside stairs leading down to it

push open the door whatever took place still lingering

don’t you feel this way about certain spaces

you would not know what to say to who you once were

a life that could have resembled anyone’s

where your body led you too young to have imagined anything

rearing like a car alarm a sweeping fire

over dry grass where you live now

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About Karen Kevorkian

Karen Kevorkian is a native of San Antonio who lives in Los Angeles, teaching poetry and fiction writing workshops at UCLA and before that at the University of Virginia. This is her second poem to appear in Four Way Review. Other journals she’s published in are New American Writing, Volt, Michigan Quarterly Review, and Denver Quarterly. Her poetry collections are Quivira, Lizard Dream, White Stucco Black Wing, and the forthcoming It’s Crowded Here in My Body.