Guiding Red
A poem
Opening excerpt (first ~120 words) tap to expand
PoemGuiding RedA poemBy Victoria ChangIndianapolis Museum of Art / GettyJune 24, 2026, 8 AM ET ShareSave I thought of the poet who had entered hospice, the way his mouth had finished its long job.His body parts tying things up. I sensed that the poet had died that night. All the writers’words became hours. Everything they talked of, I no longer cared about. Everything I had seenin my life turned to wood. Without softness, I became so lost that I knocked on the woodenmoon and my dead father answered. I asked him why he wasn’t in my heart. He handed me asmall cloth to wet my eyes for seeing in the fires. Another to cover my mouth. He hung a spyglassaround my neck, said nothing, detached my sadness, held onto it like a briefcase. He turnedme around and sent me back down.
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Excerpt limited to ~120 words for fair-use compliance. The full article is at The Atlantic.
