‘White Out’ by Aurora Engle-Pratt​

Memory—as subject, as itself—resists cliché because it’s as universal and universally mysterious as the human condition gets. Poetry is such a natural venue for the exploration of memory because the act of poetry, and the existence of poetry, is as close as we can get to point at that mystery in text.

Memory isn’t a black thread on a canvas,
a plumb line in the storm.
Memory is white on white,
the red in the back of my eye,
narrative defying.

I think what moves me most about ‘White Out’ by Aurora Engle-Pratt is, putting aside the specific and expansive interiority it creates, that it is in effect an ars poetica. Or an ars poetica that’s specific to poetry about memory.

I thought I could master memory, map it,
make story-stuff from its raw guts. Instead
memory is a pit within me,
a deep white hole.

The interiority, though, is terrifying and beautiful. Here, memory is as integral to existence as flesh and blood. Perhaps more so.

ÄLPHÄ