Patrick Kindig

corona, n.

A small circle or disc
of light. A halo, a ring
around the moon. As in:
the moon’s corona is shining
tonight, it has a corona
that shines. Like glass
or a bright fish, often
prismatic. As in: the moon’s
corona is in the creek tonight,
a silver ripple. The creek
is carrying the moon the way
a man might carry a king.

corona, n.

A crown-like appendage
on the inner side of some
flowers, such as the daffodil
and the daffodil’s close
relations. Royal lips
kissing the air, poised
to pollinate. More stamen
than petal: meet the plant’s
cock. Shaped like
a tube, a trumpet, a prolapsed
rectum. Its function is distinct.
Its function is unknown.

corona (lucis), n.

A chandelier suspended
from the roof of a church:
crown (of light), light
(of God). Darkness
is a sin. As in: where pleasure
is taken (from God), where
the eye (of God) fails. See
curiosity: the lust of the eye.
In a clean, well-lit place,
there is no need for wonder.

corona, n.

A solar halo, mock
sun. A sun throwing
its voice. Anthelion:
a bright spot opposite
the sun. A bright spot
where the sun is not. A
sun dog. A light in the sky
chasing its tail. Heel,
sun; stay, sun. Get in
your crate, sun, and
do as you are told.

corona (radiata), n.

A mass of fibers in the brain
spread radially from capsule
to cortex. Made of white matter,
well-sheathed. A transit system
prone to stroke, stuttering
processionals, funerals
in the brain. A kind of crown
beneath the crown: kill it
and kill the king.

corona, n.

A luminous appearance in the gas
surrounding a conductor, a sheen,
a shining in the night, the night
a cloud of air, the air a jar of lightning
unlidded, unleashed, discharged
like a patient who has completed
treatment, a soldier, a religious
office performed secretively and
with care, a gesture electric enough
to make the heart beat faster, not
strong enough to cause a spark.

Patrick Kindig teaches writing and American literature at Indiana University. He is the author of the chapbook all the catholic gods (Seven Kitchens Press, 2019) and the micro-chapbook Dry Spell (Porkbelly Press, 2016), and his poems have recently appeared in Copper Nickel, Washington Square Review, Shenandoah, Columbia Poetry Review, and other journals.
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About Posit Editor

Susan Lewis (susanlewis.net) is the editor of Posit (positjournal.com) and the author of ten books and chapbooks, including Zoom, winner of the 2017 Washington Prize, Heisenberg's Salon, This Visit, and State of the Union. Her poetry has appeared in such places as The Awl, Berkeley Poetry Review, Boston Review, The Brooklyn Rail, Cimarron, Gargoyle, The Journal, New American Writing, The New Orleans Review, Prelude, Raritan, Seneca Review, So to Speak, Verse, Verse Daily, and VOLT.