by Annette Sisson
In this image of Jupiter, gas and water
swirl in sinewy bands of color. Like
shoulder tissue, muscle braided
to elbow, like fibrous roots burrowing
into Earth. Squint, and it could be
a cauldron of entrails, slugs sliding,
a washtub of whorling socks.
Or an atmospheric map of wind.
The swells of a fraught mind reaching
for the trail of God’s stray eye.
::
Annette Sisson’s poems have appeared in Valparaiso Poetry Review, Birmingham Poetry Review, Rust and Moth, Lascaux Review, Glassworks, and many other journals and anthologies. Her first full-length book, Small Fish in High Branches, was published by Glass Lyre (5/22), and her second, Winter Sharp With Apples, is currently seeking a publisher. Her poems have placed in several contests, including Frontier New Voices and The Fish Anthology, and nine have been nominated for The Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, three of which happened in 2023.
Image: NASA
ID: Jupiter as seen from the Hubble space telescope.
Psaltery & Lyre 