Paradise 
 

Together, dead dog of dawn in our arms, 

let’s storm the corset of the whaling wife. 

Do you not admire the assiduity with which

I caught the platelet of blood dripping from  

the crook of history’s arm,  IV pulled

in time to salute the rousing myth of  

salvation?  But I’ve sickened, of late, of

halo of thorn, soda water stain spreading  

under the form outlined in chalk.  It’s silent

in the splendid city.  The burning baby is here.   

The guests, not understanding, nor possessed of burning

babies themselves, pool gustily, in trucks, onto the lawn.   

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Virginia Konchan is a graduate of the NEOMFA program at Cleveland State. Her poetry and reviews have appeared or are forthcoming in American Poetry Journal, The New Republic, Rain Taxi, The Believer, and Notre Dame Review.  The photographs in this issue were taken in Budapest.

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