Virginia Konchan
Doxology
And then—sunburst through clouds.
And then acute feels, of propinquity.
I like the text; it’s the subtext I have
issues with, the hollowing out of my
innards when the last friend leaves.
I have no interest in paying off the
interest, nor the principal, on debt.
I am unamused by abstract notions,
plot-based novels, and constituencies.
Being single is a gift that keeps giving,
however: howling in the moribund fog,
wearing athleisure gear to formal events,
pacing the floor at 3am like Hamlet, mad,
perfecting the naked body for you alone.
In a world with no hell to follow, I will
no longer be attracted, phenomenally
or pheromonally, to any person, nor
will I have the occasion to even meet
them, reluctant as I am to quit my flat
and stake out claims in the wild world
of endless subterfuge and wandering,
lost souls claiming to be found until
they meet their maker in this life,
or another, however alarmingly.
Every hour is an hour of truth:
selfhood a category erased,
while auctioneers quibble
for the remains of mind.
Sad mammal, analogue
girl in a virtual world:
people are just guessing.
Let us be tender and kind.
Virginia Konchan reads “Doxology”
Virginia Konchan is the author of five books of poetry, including Requiem (Carnegie Mellon University Press, 2025) and Bel Canto (Carnegie Mellon, 2022), as well as a short story collection, Anatomical Gift. Coeditor of Marbles on the Floor: How to Assemble a Book of Poems (University of Akron Press, 2023), her poems have appeared in The New Yorker, The New Republic, The Atlantic, and The Believer.