The poetry of Anna Ciummo


(After you)

You never have bad digestion
in dreams. Mind only a scribbling,
ceramic, black-and-beige

chrome of moments.
You might be a lopsided deviant for just one night.
Another, the paper curtains embellishing
the window to Eden. A woman looks to her palette
again. Who are you, next?

Journalist’s questions: You’re asking them quickly.
Before the peeling begins, before
the paint dries.

Looking to hear the chirrup,

the wine and wire pointing to a table set before you.
Heavy steps take you there, heavy

steps. Soon those apples, the salty
cream sauce, the autumn chill, all
of it will meet you
at the dead line,
and your cup runs over.





Artificial Intelligence

Hey, I wanted to tell you
a little something about AI,
the thing who will one day
drive your kids to school
and fight our battles
and transplant our hearts
when we all begin dying
of soda at forty.
And when they finally swarm,
this lavender outdoors
can’t be worth it anymore,
for who sees beauty?
A robot? Of course not.
For the universe
is a computer and nature
is a computer but you? Me?
We’re above all that, so godlike
we create our own gods,
so compatible
and compartmentalized,
reaching into the drawers
of ourselves to borrow
piece after piece: Patchwork
strung together with a silk-thin,
sentient thread. Eventually,
we will need them to believe
in, since we’re sure as hell
incapable of our own salvation.

Anna Ciummo is both poet and prose writer. She is an undergraduate student at Washburn University and works part-time as a book editor. She has been previously published in Inferno Magazine and the Founder’s Favorites section of Halcyon Days, and is the author of the chapbook, Dreamflowers. When she’s not reading, studying, working, or doing all three at once, she might be found crocheting and tending to her ever-growing plant family.

One comment

  1. Oh, this coming empty life of having a robot for a companion. The trip to school will be void of conversation and observations. We are seeing it already especially on the phone when called to punch one. I miss interaction already. Hello will become obsolete and the mirror will become our response team.


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