Round
BY SERENA SOLIN
Columbia University, ’16
2016 Adroit Prize for Poetry: Editors’ List
This is a poem for two people
on either strip of soil. You, me,
ease irrelevant. The benign form of morning,
the white underparts of your arm
seeking warmth. I sat in your chair
for a long time today. All the paintings
at the Cloisters and the only one I want
to look at: the impression of a lion
restored to stone. This is for a cactus
swelling hopefully with water. You,
the impression, warmth in soil. Morning,
you, the one I want, seeking ease,
swelling with water. I sat for a long time,
you, me, irrelevant. This, for two:
the Cloisters, the cactus. The underparts
stripped hopefully to form. I look
at your arm; water over me. Stone
seeking soil. Today the impression
of my form with your form, shadows swelling
white, voices outside the window,
you easy for a long time. This is a poem
to a cactus seeking warmth, painting
stone to soil. For two people sitting in water.
