Red in Six Sections I The simplest observation is this: there is little sublimity in division, but proximity facilitates immersion. It is not the image we will leave this world or its future inhabitants. History does not rummage through the glories, only ruins remain. II Standing before you is the shade of my transgressions. Of depth and enormity and fracture of subtleties in monochrome. Plasticity, verisimilitude, invention by right ought to fade a presence with no context save the making. I will never admit to expansion. III It’s never as easy as field and figure when the plane itself—though not the object—aggresses. Sublimity is our mother tongue, our source of fundamental recollection—countless brushstrokes publish wonder, negate by accumulation. There you are again, on the other side of a red field that denies direction. I refuse to diminish our separation. I refuse to bring these barriers down. IV The simplest observation is this: there is nothing to read and any stride toward the heroic sublime necessarily begins a blemish on an otherwise pristine canvas. What would have been had we left this world unaffected. V What is the point of a monument that outlives its observers? Why not leave a footprint in sand? VI The bridge exceeds the span of land it calls its destination. Nolan Meditz Nolan Meditz was born and raised on Long Island. He received his MFA from Hofstra University in 2014 and his Ph.D. from the University of Louisiana at Lafayette in 2018. His poetry has appeared in Roanoke Review, Califragile, deLuge Journal, and Mockingheart Review among other publications. He currently lives in Weatherford, OK, where he teaches writing at Southwestern Oklahoma State University.
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September 2024
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