Tag Archives: Leah Umansky

Leah Umansky

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Once

Once there was a memory, sitting. Mist, clearing, in a dark room of points. There was a harboring of safetys that buoyed in the sea-chant and then, I too, was rattling in the green. My feet were nested in salt and sand. My hands, adrift in lace.

Look at me, you said.

I found a way in, I answered. Come, share my habits and my sea-turns.

Forget it, I’m not a good sharer. Let’s go leave that memory.

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Once there was a middle that could’ve been rain.

Once, there was a Sunday morning and I said, I wonder if we have to go that way.

Once, I felt I was a slice of heart.

Once, there was the falling of night and I was alone with its steepness, and said, stirring because I felt I was a pooling of light; a door-sliver and a golden beam.

Once, there was a request to be imaginary.

Once, the story was a brief gust; a whirl of some dance “and then life became music.”

all my days at the open dark

stand in an always

so often as I am, as I be, as I will
above the grit of good and arriving,

anyways

dark has no face and            dark runs from the moon

but wolves in the teeth of night,
& the clank and gong.

Sit, here.

hover      utter      still

a sourcing          a re-affirming          a waited rush of the found

a vein,     like a star’s blue,

or violet,

or navied in vain.

Leah Umansky is the author of the dystopian themed chapbook, Straight Away the Emptied World (Kattywompus Press 2016), the Mad-Men inspired, Don Dreams and I Dream (Kattywompus Press 2014), and the full-length collection Domestic Uncertainties (Blazevox 2012). Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in such places as Poetry, Faerie Magazine, Thrush Poetry Journal, The Golden Shovel Anthology, and Barrow Street. www.leahumansky.com.