Jennifer Kronovet

With the Boy, Inside the Idea

Barn, ducks, cow… objects make us make sense. A painting of horses that are part of a war. The war is subtle but the horses are not— the idea of things now lives in the sounds things make. We don’t hear the horses but we do. The war is silent as flesh because the past...

With the Boy, Cemetery

A fire hydrant in a cemetery— observe. And then nothing to say. The rubber of thinking solo so much. The primer of your hand being affectionate. The primate particulars. You eat. I eat. He eats. OK fragmented thoughts as if I’m living in a certain time. A manhole has text that manifests as a totem....

With the Boy, in the House

The boy will raise a hand to salute you: a resistor in the electrical system of ideas. Then the feeling alarm. Then, Formica daytime again. I feed him while concentrating on the words I feed him. (If I list them, we might fail.) Then tongue to floor tongue to plastic tongue to grit. We detect...

With the Boy, System

When I met the boy he was my little organ made to cause feeling. Like a nerve mated with a liver. Processing me to make feeling come back. I thought there would be more thought involved. Rather, I became the director of making time between things happening. After a meal and before learning to walk...