Malik Thompson (he/they) is a Black queer person from Washington, DC. His work has been published in the Cincinnati Review, Denver Quarterly, Poet Lore, and elsewhere. He has received fellowships and residencies from organizations including Cave Canem, Lambda Literary, the Anderson Center, and Sundress Publications. He can be found on IG via the handle @latesummerstar.
white lamp flickering,
its pleated shade tilted.
in the other room,
the voices of friends.
laughter & sobs. someone’s
birthday. confetti.
the cutting of cake.
//
the midnight poem.
its slow, slow writing.
black ink in the pages
of this oversized pad.
the call of nightjars,
the call of horned owls.
//
sleep comes less easily
when lying in bed
with a stranger. strange
lungs. strange scent.
unfamiliar cadence
of the breath.
//
I believe I know
what I’m doing here
but isn’t certainty
a fiction? Obscure
to myself; laughter
& sobs, nightjars,
the receding voices
of strangers & friends.
This poem was written in the summer of 2023 during my first year as a Cave Canem fellow. My first Cave Canem retreat was a restless and heartbreakingly beautiful experience that also forced me to reckon with shifts in my poetics due to the rigorous practice of writing a new poem nearly every day of the week. This poem, for me, embodies that sense of estrangement and disorientation that staring into the dark well of one's creative practice necessitates, ending with an admirably futile gesture toward coherence at its end. Like much of my work, there is an element of strangeness and mystery at work in this poem that I am resistant to attempting to unfurl.