Phenomena

Robert Wood Lynn

Some said the earth had slowed down and some

said the sun was drifting further out but we didn’t know

out of what. Scientists had long stopped returning the calls

from the radio DJs who’d never let them get a word in

anyhow. What had changed was vague and difficult

to define but it was apparent something had changed.

Or was in the process of changing. Perhaps not from

one thing to another like a tadpole or a skipped song,

but from one thing into its own difference. The years

wrinkling in the knuckles of your hand. A gathering up

of light. The news soon settled on calling it a Hole

in the Sky though everyone, even the news knew it wasn’t

that at all. The truth again too complicated, having many

specific ambiguities that a Hole in the Sky smooths over.

You had to admit it sounded better—like a dream we could

all be in together if we ever all managed to fall asleep

at the same time. Morning did not ruin it the way it ruins

so much else. The whir at the low end of the dial, soft

and low in spite of the shouts of the DJs. The sound

of something larger than us breathing out. The whole

of everything wishing us well. Meaning it this time.


DESCRIBE ONE FORMAL REALIZATION OR CHANGE YOU MADE DURING THE WRITING OF THIS POEM.

Normally, I revise my poems 10–20 times before I send them out into the world, but I looked into it and this poem is an exception: I revised it exactly once. The initial draft ended after “The whole of everything wishing us well.” This felt wrong for a few reasons—not least that it was off rhythmically, abrupt in a way misaligned with the content. I find formal issues in a draft are usually a signal that a conceptual change is also needed, and for me, “Meaning it this time” lands better sonically and serves as a more effective coda. More importantly, it also turned out that the poem needed to undermine the bland positivity of its ending gesture—to cast into doubt the trustworthiness of this world and its well wishes while still closing with warmth. It’s an uncanny poem; the ending needed to acknowledge that.

Robert Wood Lynn is a poet from Virginia. His debut collection Mothman Apologia was the winner of the Yale Younger Poets Prize and the Kate Tufts Discovery Award. He teaches creative writing at Juilliard.
Originally published:
November 13, 2024

Featured

The Shapes of Grief

Witnessing the unbearable
Christina Sharpe

Writing in Pictures

Richard Scarry and the art of children’s literature
Chris Ware

Garth Greenwell

The novelist on writing about the body in crisis
Meghan O’Rourke

You Might Also Like



Images from the War

Doha Kahlout
translated by Yasmine Seale

Subscribe

New perspectives, enduring writing. Join a conversation 200 years in the making. Subscribe to our print journal and receive four beautiful issues per year.
Subscribe