Kevin Prufer

A BODY OF WORK

One comes, eventually, to the realization
that one will leave behind only
a body of work that will grow increasingly
unintelligible to each new generation. A trace
will remain spread across the vast
internet in much the way certain particles
inhabit the emptiness of deep space—negligibly,
though, perhaps, measurably. I, for instance,
am childless and, therefore, most likely
will die alone, my nest feathered
with yellowing poems. One comes, eventually,
to the knowledge that one’s children
are increasingly unintelligible, being yellowing
poems spread across the emptiness of deep space—
negligible, though they once seemed, in their way,
to breathe. For instance, I am alive, right here,
in the middle of my poem, having had, perhaps,
too much to drink. One comes, eventually,
to the certainty that one’s body of work
is nothing like another man’s progeny, being
made of language which can only veer
toward emptiness as years become empty space.
For instance, hello? I am calling out to you,
folded here between the pages
of generations. You don’t know me, but once
I was particulate and alive. Now what am I?

KEVIN PRUFER teaches in the Creative Writing Program at the University of Houston. His most recent books are How He Loved Them (2018) and The Art of Fiction (2021), both from Four Way Books. His next book, The Fears, will be published by Copper Canyon Press in 2023.