About the Feature

Flower-bordered river
where I fillet the hyacinths,

a russian doll of places
posing as one place.

Halogen me
at a horse show in Florida

while another juliennes
olives for appetizers.

A doll slipped in another
till all dolls are dull:

versions of me
with whistles for lips

reciting asterisks
in the periodic table.

Collage of the unconscious:
white flowers, lost teeth,

scarecrow with
an aureole of straw,

basilica for everyone’s
best dresses.

I visit the public
museum of clouds,

lithographs of sky
posing as space.

Layers make monsters
as shows the snapdragon.

Memory, you crooked thing
I do to the page.

About the Author

Maya Catherine Popa’s work appears or is forthcoming in the Kenyon Review, Field, Poetry London, Oxford Poetry, the Rumpus, the Huffington Post, and elsewhere. She was a Clarendon Scholar at Oxford University from 2011–13 and is currently completing an MFA at
NYU. She is the editorial fellow at Poets & Writersmagazine and the literary editor of
All Hollow magazine.

Image by Colin Smith