Michelle Brittan Rosado
Palmar Grasp Reflex II
—a tower of mirrors curving
toward childhood. No one told me
the memories would come
back. No one told me some memories
would never return. An unending campaign
of feeling. Even what I can’t recall
is in this room now. His cry
before the limits of language.
Our hands make patterns
the ancestors recognize as their own.
Author’s note: The poems in this series all use the image of a window as their starting point, some in the title itself and others more peripherally. I’ve been thinking of this symbol a lot lately — as a portal for wonder in childhood, an aperture to others’ lives during the pandemic, a view of the world outside after giving birth and spending those early days indoors. These poems may not have come into existence without the invitation to contribute to The Fresno 15, and I am endlessly grateful to the MFA program for my years there and the deep sense of community I’ve carried with me since graduating in 2011. Thank you for reading and for supporting the Larry Levis Memorial Scholarship.