Sylvia Gorelick
For Jack
He can see the color red
because he is
a Red
does he know the secret
that I was always
this boy
and what was never secret
in my name
my life
Red is the color of the movies
smoke
vampire lust
never making it home
in your cloak
Red is blood and
activist spirit and
rage
concretely, it was never meant
to be this
way
your inheritance was dreaming
you know
they dreamed of difference
Jack knew surveillance
the first McCarthy era
whispers in the air
there was never a law
to save us
there was only us
alone us
all the lights are red all the poets are dead
—Wanda Coleman
Jack gave me back
my childhood
we sat in silence
with the lasting light
lasting
but how do I survive myself, Wanda?
she was also a boy
like Piper
seeing blood in the water
I trust only
poets who break me open
petals fall
under earth & night
allow
enough in to be alive
at the edge
on the street
although my image has
been erased
my words have not
our souls linger
in the dark
filtered through windows
my too-good
too-shy
child self
my quiet sadness
those eyes I share with him
and so,
am so
proud
PASSION
For L.M.
“it would have killed him
to know she died”
said S
soon after she collapsed
on the street
& I knew I was next
how being called beautiful
can be a death sentence
bombs raining down
near & far
you taught me
the trick of
collapsing distance
through words
our wings are alive
angel applicants in space
you wanted me alive
when no one else did
the first man to lose me
on purpose
was bearded & self-satisfied
philosophy picks up
where psychology means nothing
anymore
he wanted me pinned to
his wall
beyond the dream of death
as if to die every night
was not enough
it would have killed him
to know
I am still living
the second day
is always the worst
I will flame to death
if I must
if you must
know,
you always said
and I did
rooting around in night
for answers
to questions
they could never
understand
the passion is haunted
its music
we’ve survived
too much
to be caught like this
again
in this web
with the sword
we anger men for fear & fun
Poem for Alice
I look at you every day
you said
leaving fleeing
being
another question
I consider the possibility
that my grandparents
are in the
birds
is a mother a ghost?
there are letters &
letters
you say poetry is mere reality
so is haunting
I breathe the air of
ghosts every day don’t we all
my ghosts corporeal & absent
here & far
I am standing here trying to appease your brutality
you write
I feel protected by that
You are a generous mood
wrote L
my mood being
exceptionally ungenerous
these days
I wear the armor of an actor
your poem about our lost ballet
what you meant all those
years ago
we finally first met
after knowing you all my life
Alice Alive
you knew
a cure
largely specific in
atmosphere & distance
Sylvia Gorelick (they/she) is a poet, translator, and PhD candidate in comparative literature at NYU. Sylvia's chapbook Vampire Poem was published by Cul-de-sac of Blood in 2024, and their poems have appeared in Venti, What a Time to Be Alive, and the Brooklyn Rail, among other places. Their translation of Mallarmé's The Book came out from Exact Change in 2018. Sylvia's scholarly research focuses on revolutionary feminisms in a transnational context through poetry and film.