In my competitive shopping days, I was the one who lacked. Such was the go-time of story, but. I can't converse anymore. Here is what I hear: She broke it off the night back from Australia. Coming from the west is very hard. What happened tomorrow? I held my mojo. Cradled and coddled the baby thing. But you lived there. All of it. I'll do the dishes, if you don't show how you do it. How everything goes and comes back. Every equation takes three different ways to attack. Every motion is a gesture of conversation, if you're covered in all-alone. As in the darkness knows itself long before illumination. But holding back, are you enbraced? Can you remain here between us? If you go, I'm no longer "us." Just like the air is like 24 hours no more. As in, what year have we become? The one we invented as habitat? That's what they're here to say. So they say. Let's move on with the gloss. We walk straight into it, hand holding the sunset.
Of her most recent book from Litmus Press, I Want to Make You Safe, John Ashbery described Amy King's poems as bringing "abstractions to brilliant, jagged life, emerging into rather than out of the busyness of living." Safe was one of the Boston Globe's Best Poetry Books of 2011. The Missing Museum is forthcoming in 2014 from Kore Press. King also teaches English & Creative Writing at SUNY Nassau Community College, co-edits Poets for Living Waters, and works with VIDA: Women in Literary Arts.