“In her collection, Ben-Oni humanizes the study of physics, from stars to particles: how can we fit into a world we cannot see, does it matter if our reality is not as real as we once thought, and do our deep feelings of loss, joy, and grief mean anything when placed against infinite space?” Mark Spero on Rosebud Ben-Oni
Doubling as a spellbook, this collection performs speech acts that reach for healing and integration, all while meditating on which anti-inflammatories (aloe? spearmint? dates? wolves? breath? intimacy?) might best treat the global inflammation that is empire.
The Earth is cloud marbled, inscribed with sea.
Orion, big unbothered company.
We are five
months into a game
neither of us know
how to play.
An afternoon run up the false summit
of every promising idea,
Great pyramids of salt, line
the shore, coarse mounds
I’d like to climb, fly
down in a red sled.
Sweeter, nearly cloying as you and I
eat and eat until the bag folds over.
Out of swollen bellies and wild wind waves.
They feed the feathered beast.
They feed monsoon storm strumming out of the Gulf of Alaska.
Not even the water, churning forever
in the river’s holiest mouth
would envy me.
You feel most fully
when you’re fleeing
