Poems of our climate Logo drawing

c/o Sofia Baluyut

About the Column:

Poems of Our Climate is a weekly poetry column run by Sofia Baluyut ’23. The column was founded by Oliver Egger ’23 as a part of the Route 9 Literary Collective. Submit and read past issues of The Lavender at Route9.org. If you are interested in having your poem featured in this column, please email your work directly to sbaluyut@wesleyan.edu


my memory is mine (and i love her even when she lies / and she loves me so she lies)

it has been said that memory is your old 

television, fuzzy, color fading 

away and you must hit the side 

to get the image back, before you blink you

think other realities 

have slipped through, too


and so the memory of us 

i see through the yellow-stained

glass, the portrait is surrounded by a haze

but still i know it’s you here

my mind reconstructs you as we were 


a visual of my handiwork, 

a topography of curves and bumps 

i felt we were 


visceral always is my memory

my body aches today where it remembers the pain

my blood flows—a rise, a fall—in the same rhythm

as when we first happened

flowing this way only when 

i think of you and you think of me, too 


the process of becoming 

everyone, everything, every experience 

as i know it in my body 


i’ve heard that some say

memory is a kind of fiction 

a fable for truth

a lesson learned, a hope come true


what I ought to know 

because of what I don’t 


but still 


the remembrances recur:

the first kiss myth 

you ask me if it’s true and for you i say yes

all the first kisses, realfake, stored

in my mind: sep 12 2014 and/or 

sep 29 2014 and/or/and/or 

my mouth remembers every kiss as a new one

a pleasure of the lips, lingua franca, oral history  


but still


soon i will forget that you ever seeped through

for the care and delicacy required 

to love when i relive myself  


because my memory is my love

fluffing pillows, smoothing out wrinkles, retucking the sheets


my memory is my own sustained acts of attention,

the remaking of my bed


About the Poet: 

Genesis (Hennessy) Pimentel is a Dominican-American writer from Boston, MA. Haunted by words and constantly coming undone by the act of writing, she nevertheless pursues writing through creative and academic endeavors. Much more likely to be found writing fiction, obsessing over oral storytelling, and reading theory, she humbly presents this foray into poetry—a medium she does not often work with, but eyes jealously and longingly for how it seamlessly blends all of her favorite things.

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