Diana Rickard
SMALL CONSOLATION

you make an offering to posterity 

ghastly aesthetic cauterizes the virile 

there is a corniness to the late wave and you absorb 

because of resemblance 

because of what drifts 

and sifts through the sieve 

all of it 

you fought and then you learned and then used humor to veil your motives 

the prosaic shame of waiting, a penny dreadful of anticipation 

in half-hearted syntax you question risk 

a lilac apple flecked with gold 

the edifying volume that is always put off, and the cuteness of everyone’s pets 

nostalgic for an attention span, you are moved by a hesitant apology 

the inbox contains an update. a question about snacks. a second confirmation 

you recognize a silhouette on the toilet 

familiar like that dull bonding when a celebrity dies 

you love the bottle but hate the fragrance 

merely balancing, on coiled spine 

porous and commanding, generous and small 

before you a darkening and amputated image  

a woman falters then takes the stage 

tipping on a generation, glad for the notebook  

your robust materialism made from mutant fascination 

a cultural deformity  

decaying fort 

a doll that always says no 

Diana Rickard is a poet and true-crime scholar. Her poems have appeared in numerous literary magazines. Her next book, on long-form documentaries, is forthcoming from NYU Press.

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