By Allison Thung

And though she knows
it always takes a left turn
for slumber to grace,
each night she still
attempts to begin the
descend to sleep
lying on her right.
This same obstinacy
what fuels her desire to
seek him in all the places
he will never be—
between the covers of
Heaney’s Field Work,
behind the resonance of
his Córdoba’s nylons,
on the broken step
between then and now,
and in the empty
space to her right.

“(I write) because I must.” – the poet

One thought on “Right

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