INTRO: these untitled pieces are from an in-progress but almost finished chapbook called “marbling,” which happens to be about absolutely fucking soul-crushing sorrow.
the gray days are the most difficult; the days when nothing really feels real – least of all you. it’s a different kind of quiet, a different kind of cold and both of them, piercing. time feels viscous, it’s hard to move through so you stay in bed most of the day to save your energy, your strength. lotta gray days ahead, you know. winter again.
december’s breath on the back of your
neck and you, baby born in a blizzard.
in sixth grade they took you out of
science class and made you talk to the
psychiatrist at school-based youth
services because you related too much
to the worn-down rock faces in the erosion unit. you started crying quietly and couldn’t seem to stop yourself.
but it wasn’t just canyons, plateaus. a worn spot of paint on something touched frequently always hurt too.
Dani Tauber is a basket-case poet, professional ghost, former music journalist, and antiques archivist from NJ. She shares a room with more than 50 journals and several antique locks of hair. She doesn’t know what she’s mourning yet, but she’s beyond consolation.