MANY THINGS CAN BE TRUE AT ONCE

Such as how the first week of fall
can still be warm, though the light
is softer, edged in amber.

Some days it seems
that everything has meaning, and
others, that nothing does. I wonder why

you never listen after asking how
I am. It’s hard to show you care, I know.
Harder, even, to let love grow inside your ears.

I am angry, always, at the beginning of night,
but saddest at its end. My fingers
are loose, but my shoulders are tight. I’m used to

washing dishes, not being held. No one asked
my advice
for the living, but I’ll say it anyway:

stay away from trees overflowing
with fruit; ask for help; give money away,
as much as you can, and don’t do it just

to be thanked.

THE BEGINNING

of each day is the same.
For a moment, there is
quiet. Sometimes, shadows pool
like water stains. Otherwise,
the ceiling is blank, my sheets are fresh,
under my neck
is a pillow and a pillow
case. This
is the trick of feeling less
alone: turn objects
into friends. This
is the sad trick
of surviving this place:
treat objects
better than people.

Meriwether Clarke’s poetry and prose have appeared in Best New Poets, The Rumpus, Cimarron Review, Seneca Review, Colorado Review, Prairie Schooner, Tin House, Poetry Daily, The Journal, Gigantic Sequins, The Michigan Quarterly Review, and elsewhere. A graduate of UC Irvine’s Programs in Writing and Northwestern University, she has been supported by the Vermont Studio Center, the Community of Writers, and the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts. Her chapbook, twenty-first century woman, was released by Dancing Girl Press in 2019. Her debut full-length collection, Body Memory, was released by Unsolicited Press in 2025.