“The Sequestered Juror Writes a Rondeau” by Kathleen McClung

Kathleen McClung


You find yourself more grateful for the view
than for the king size mattress because you
don’t sleep with any regularity.
Instead you rise and pull the drapes at three
or four a.m. Bright parking lot is nothing new,

and yet configurations change. Those two
Toyotas just arrived. That powder blue
Mercedes left. Praise flux, mobility.
You find your cell

expands beyond four walls by watching who
emerges from each open door and who
departs. One day you will conclude: Guilty
or Not. (Deadlock’s a possibility.)
One day you’ll leave. For now, here’s what you do.
You fill your cell.

from A Juror Must Fold in on Herself
2020 Rattle Chapbook Prize Winner


Kathleen McClung: “I have taught a variety of literature and writing classes at Skyline College as an adjunct professor for over twenty years. While this seniority gives me a wee bit of job security, I still struggle with all kinds of uncertainties, which may partly account for why I write mostly formal poetry. There is a tangible comfort in the challenge of crafting a sestina, pantoum, ghazal, or sonnet. I may not have adequate health insurance, but my iambs feel good.” (web)


Kathleen McClung is the guest on Rattlecast #60! Click here to watch …

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