Amy K. Genova will be one of three featured readers at the •chance operations• reading at Tavern of Fine Arts, 313 Belt Avenue, on Monday, November 25.
Also featured will be Julia Gordon-Bramer and Henry Goldkamp.
Doors open at 7:30 p.m.; admission is FREE.
Amy K. Genova teaches composition at St. Louis Community College. She has been published in in the American Poetry Review, REAL, Bad Shoe, Tipton Poetry Journal, Maize, Homestead Review, the Caprock Sun, and many others. This is her third year in St. Louis. She'd rather be where there are palm trees, but toasted raviolis are good.
This time I decide not to count laps but swim until tired. It’s hard letting go: 2-4-6 … A gnomon-like shadow
slips over the outdoor pool. Rings un-number themselves
off my hands, five fingers squeezed like paddles clapping
water. But, then, that’s counting: tic, tic, tic. Anxiety and sun clock my shoulder rosy. Will I swim enough? Refocus on drain. Its clog of leaves. Cracks. Rust curving algae down the pool belly. Lane dividers—red and blue.Perhaps, I’ll just count 400 IMs, neat lengths of 4x4s. Would that be so bad? My sleek heart beat beat beats without breath of comma in-betweens, despite symmetry— left breath, no breath, right breath. Three beats. Undermy 90 degree elbow, freestyles the tree-glisten and sky. One perfect hole in the clouds, God’s no-more-counting, flip-turning. Just a good shove off the side into this glass
slipper of warm shallow into cool deep. A red-hatted
lifeguard, perches above my lane. Does he note my stroke?
Think I need saving? Two swimmers come & go. Am I tired?
Invisible—Turning, honeysuckle tickles my nose. A cloud-bit of radio races after me. A thousand white leaves wade in sun. My father rises again from water. Glasses, speckled with splash.
My heart dolphins. Pop-static sings from the radio,
makes me feel like … I’m locked out of heaven. When numbers end:
light, cirrus strands, a boy in red trunks. A Doppler of dad in the pool
when I’m five … This uncountable swim—
-- Amy K. Genova