“I chose this poem because I admire Karin Gottshall’s use of language throughout all of her poems, but this one in particular feels extremely comforting to me. The lines “Your apartment,/dim and small, was in a neighborhood redolent/of cinnamon.” is so unique and such an interesting way of describing a location. I thought this poem was perfect for a day in January because it speaks of such cozy, intimate moments. It’s just something you need on a cold day, like a little pick-me-up. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do!”
– RCAH Center for Poetry Intern, Estee Schlenner
White-on-white like tumbled
sheets, the crumpled paper. It was autumn;
I spent hours sketching the dancers
in the Degas galleries. Five times
a day I heard the docent say Degas portrayed
his dancers, his bathers like unthinking
animals—but I was in love
with their arched backs, the blatant pleasures
and fidgets of the body in use. Your apartment,
dim and small, was in a neighborhood redolent
of cinnamon. I was clunky in corduroy
and wool as you tenderly unwound
my scarf each night; it seemed your cat
would never leave off worshipping
my ankles. You unbuttoned
my heavy coat, received my load of books,
and set before me, once, a baked pear—rich
with brown sugar, sweet
butter, redundant with spice. I ate it
ravenously, that exotic food.
The RCAH Center for Poetry at MSU 