This is the story about the castle cut off from the town,
about the way the shadow of the kitchen table moves

when I look at it too long. It might almost have
breath. This is about the voices

in the spoons, the strange language
of cutlery I set myself to learn.

It passes the afternoon. I’ll live here
until I’m tired of it. Then I’ll allow him in.

Enter, Beast, I’ll say, but: Beast, hide from me

while you’re in my house. I’m not used to company.
I turn off the lights to make the search last longer.

In the dark I have no beauty. When I find him,
he speaks to me

in words I know already: lonely,
The two of us

alone with our forks and our fortress.


Sarah Kortemeier holds an MFA from the University of Arizona; she currently serves as a library assistant at the University of Arizona Poetry Center. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Ploughshares, Folio, and Spiral Orb. She lives in Tucson.


  1. Ann Schertz says:

    Love your poem, Sarah. So good to be able to read it here. I know that castle and that cutlery!

  2. simmonsbuntin says:

    Wonderful poem, Sarah! Really excellent.

  3. simmonsbuntin says:

    Lovely poem, Sarah! Really wonderful.

  4. Irene Schertz says:

    Thank you for sharing Ann. Sarah, I love your imagery! More please!

  5. Vera Agonafer says:

    Great poem, Sarah! Nice to see your picture too! We really must meet again

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