Poem of the Month
from Swelles

By Sina Queyras

Published on April 3, 2020
I wake up inside my fog, but no matter,
Good morning, Siri, I say, is it raining
in Berlin? Is it snowing in Mile End? Will I

need an umbrella today? Will I need a hat?
How long before a domestic jet pack is possible?
Should I apply sunscreen? Can you tell me

how much battery power I have left? Where I stored
my mother’s ashes? I know these questions lead
me nowhere, but they keep coming, Siri, can you

tell me what my current carbon count is?
Can you tell me the distance home? Can you
tell me where home is? Where my heart is? Or,

can you take me further from myself? Someone
is done for, is it me? Is there a me? Is the planet
a me? Who will provide care? What is the situation

of atmosphere? Who is benign? Can you tell me
how much plastic I have ingested? Am I more polymer
than birch? Can you identify my bark? My leaf?

Can you sing that bird? Identify that song? Is it
real, or is it ring tone? Am I who I say I am or
what they say of me? Should I water the Four

O’Clocks? Should I carry birdseed? Have I
paid my Visa bill? Do I owe my niece a text?
What about iron supplements? Meatlessness?

Does Dong Quai work? Aren’t there more
effective ways to take in Estrogen?
Is there an app for menopause? For hot flashes?
Are these things equally important? Is there
A hierarchy of meaning? Is anything a priority
or is everything a priority? I just want to know

where to focus, or, I want to believe I still can.

More Poetry


My ex keeps asking do I want the cat back,
but my place is a wall short
and where pray tell to put the litter box?

Retreating Ice

Count on it, every spring
you will find the river again.

Rocks at the edge will re-emerge
like loaves of bread salvaged from your freezer.


The fall of ’47 I was 25 and still living in Viluta. What made me stay so long? What made me linger in that nothing place, that hamlet of ten houses?